


Dichotomy

by Mangoyogurt



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Eventual Romance, F/M, Fluff, Slow Burn, Tag As I Go, not exactly canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-02
Updated: 2018-08-19
Packaged: 2019-03-12 13:24:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 29
Words: 42,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13548243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mangoyogurt/pseuds/Mangoyogurt
Summary: Sophie Carter is a celebration of juxtapositions - and that extends to the men in her life. After learning of Richard Brook's true identity, she tries to find some normalcy in her life as she moves on... only to stumble into the life of Sherlock Holmes.





	1. Prologue

A café door violently swung open as Sophie Carter spilled out onto the street. Nobody seemed to notice the dark haired woman as she stumbled forward a few times before clutching the brick wall next to her. Still leaning against the wall, she managed to pull a cigarette from her bag before ripping off the filter and unceremoniously flicking it to the ground.

“Those will kill you, you know.”

Sophie looked up at a dark haired man who steadily returned her gaze. Despite his disapproving words, he still offered his lighter. Rolling her eyes, Sophie leaned forward while cupping a hand around the flame. 

Inhale. Exhale. A stream of smoke escaped from her lips as she replied, “That’s kind of the point.”

Most would have missed the slight twitch in his lip, but not her. His gaze remained unwavering as he asked, “Are you trying to irritate me?”

“Is that sentiment I detect? Sherlock would be proud.”

He caught her hand midway as she lowered it, and gingerly brought it up to his lips. Keeping his eyes on her, the man bent down to her cigarette and slowly inhaled. Finally letting go of her hand, he rolled his head side to side while stretching his neck. 

“And how...sentimental are you with Sherlock?”

Sophie shot him a pointed look while dragging on her cigarette in silence. Inhale. Exhale. Another drag. Another moment of silence before she finally replied. 

“Goodbye, Jim.”

With that, the cigarette was tossed aside as she returned to the café without another glance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There’s a lot of the main character the first few chapters, but I promise there will be more Sherlock coming! Thanks for taking the time to read my little story. I'll be updating the story once or twice a week (usually on Sunday or Saturday). I get a bit excited when I finish a chapter, and find it hard to update just once a week though, haha!


	2. First Encounter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sophie switches things up, and ends up stumbling into the lives of Sherlock and Dr. Watson,

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \-- indicates a skip in time.

Sophie was suddenly jolted awake as a steady stream of light hit her square in the face. If that didn’t wake her up, then the blonde woman shaking her definitely did. “Soph! Soph,” she called out, her voice hovering somewhere between an aggressive whisper and a shout. 

“Anna...is this really necessary?”

“Yes. Yes it is,” the blonde replied. She ripped the comforter off the bed, sending tiny particles of dust in the air to be illuminated by the sunlight. “I’m worried about you,” Anna continued, “You haven’t been to work in a week, judging by the state of your kitchen you haven’t eaten in days, and judging by the smell of this place...you’re definitely not showering.”

Sophie shrugged and rolled over. She was tired. The kind of tired where you just wanted to wait for time to pass by. Anna walked around the bed and crouched down to face Sophie. Gently stroking her friend’s hair, Anna sighed. She loved Sophie like a sister. In fact, she probably loved her more than her actual sister. She totally got it - breakups are hard. They’re bad enough to begin with, but throw in a psychotic ex-boyfriend and five years of your life squandered on a lie...well, Anna really couldn’t expect more from Sophie. 

But there was a difference between being empathetic and just letting your friend waste away. Sure, this chapter was ending on a sour note, but Anna would make damn sure that the next one had a happier ending. Anna stood up and began pulling Sophie’s things out of a drawer and into a large duffel bag. 

She continued to pack while talking. “That’s it. You’re coming to live with me until we figure out what to do next. You don’t have to be happy, but I won’t let you be alone,” Anna stated in her usual matter-of-fact way.

Sophie wanted to protest, but part of her was grateful for her friend. 

\--

Two weeks had passed, and Sophie finally settled in Anna’s spare bedroom. Despite doing everything in her mental post breakup manual, she couldn’t help but hear the echo of emptiness inside her chest. Obviously there was only so much healing a new haircut and the ritual of burning old photographs could do for a person’s emotional state, but she really wished her efforts to forget would soon be rewarded. 

The front door opened and closed, and Anna sauntered into living room. “Oh no,” Sophie thought to herself. She knew what Anna’s toothy grin meant - a scheme. It was the same grin she had on when Anna suggested sneaking onto the tour bus of their favorite band. Sophie just hoped for her own sake that she wouldn’t be on the receiving end of that mischievous grin. 

“So,” Anna started, “I ran into the sweet lady in the building next door. She’s so excited to have a new neighbor, and insisted on having us over for tea so I could introduce you!” 

Sophie waited for the catch. There was no way that Anna was _this_ excited for tea with someone described in her own words as a “sweet lady”. Her suspicions didn’t go unnoticed, and Anna huffed, “Oh come _on_. It’s just tea. Really! It’ll do you some good to socialize, and her scones are to die for. Come on, she’s expecting us now!” 

That was really Anna for you. While some may describe her as bossy, Sophie just saw her as enthusiastic. Besides, Anna’s shenanigans did add some spice to Sophie’s life, and she was more than happy to tag along. After all, their stealthy stint on that tour bus resulted in Sophie not only experiencing her first kiss, but from a rock star nonetheless! 

They locked the door behind them, and trotted off down the street. Maybe Anna was right. If she couldn’t fill the hole in her chest with a boyfriend to love, she might as well stuff it with a social life and some scones to boot. They arrived at the black door, and Anna gave it two hard knocks. Without missing a beat, the door swung open. 

“ _She really does look like a sweet woman,_ ” Sophie thought to herself. Her impression was confirmed as the woman introduced herself as Mrs. Hudson and eagerly ushered them towards her apartment with a big smile. Sophie quietly took her surroundings in while letting the other two women walk ahead prattling on about this and that. 

It wasn’t until they were in the kitchen when she was snapped out of her thoughts. Did she just hear Mrs. Hudson mention saying hello to “the boys”? Sophie looked up just in time as a shorter blonde man stood up to shake her hand. 

“This is Dr. Watson, but we just call him John,” Mrs. Hudson introduced. 

“A pleasure,” he smiled as Sophie returned the gesture. She plastered her best fake smile on, while beginning to plot a hundred different ways to kill Anna when they got home. Of course Mrs. Hudson was only a decoy! Sophie should’ve known better. Whether it was with a second grade crush, or a potential husband, you could count on Anna to meddle in her friend’s love life. 

The more she thought about it, the more agitated Sophie became. So much so, that she didn’t even notice the curly haired man casually sitting behind John and Anna. It wasn’t until he spoke up that Sophie realized there was a fifth person in the room. 

“I’m not interested,” he lazily said in a deep baritone. 

The room became silent as everyone turned towards the man. “Excuse me?” Sophie asked, taken aback. What was he talking about? 

The man sighed and went on, “You just cut your hair short when it’s been long your whole life. And while you’re doing your best to put on a happy facade, it’s really only for your friend’s sake. The swelling around your eyes mean that you’ve been crying yourself to sleep at night when nobody can see. No visible signs of physical trauma, so I’m assuming it’s emotional. If you’re anything like the typical woman, then I’m guessing a recent breakup. Now, seeing that you’re obviously lonely and upset, and your friend is trying to introduce you to two single men, it doesn’t take a genius to guess what she’s getting at. So no, I’m not interested. But I’m sure John could be convinced.”

John began to sputter and cough, “Uh, well. That’s...uhh...Sherlock. He can be an idiot sometimes, just ignore him.” 

“That’s rich of you to say,” Sherlock retorted. 

The two men gave each other a hard stare before being interrupted by Anna’s melodic chuckle. “Don’t be so serious Sherlly, I’m just helping Soph get acquainted to her new neighborhood,” she laughed while giving him a soft box in the arm. Thank goodness for her playful nature to dissolve any tension in the room. 

“I hate it when you call me that.”

“And I hate it when you’re stupid, but we can’t all have what we want,” Anna replied, continuing to chuckle. She stood up and turned to Mrs. Hudson, “Now, how about that tea?”


	3. Tagalong

_Soft patters echoed throughout the dark corridor as Sophie slowly made her wall down the hallway undetected. A sharp crack suddenly pierced the quiet veil of night, and a fleeting flash of light immediately followed. Two more cracks filled the silence before Sophie realized that she was hearing the sound of gunfire._

Sweat poured down her back as she shot up from bed screaming. Anna immediately burst into the bedroom to find Sophie clutching the edges of her bed. The nightmares had been lessening over time, but they were still there. Like ridges pressed into paper from pencil, no matter how hard she tried to erase, Sophie still felt the edge of her past haunting her.

Anna silently climbed into bed with Sophie and pulled her best friend into a soft embrace. It pained her every time Sophie awoke with a scream, but there wasn’t much Anna could do for her friend. She slowly rocked Anna in her embrace until the woman’s quiet sobs ceased in time with the morning sun rising. 

\--

Pushing the nightmare to the back of her mind, Sophie settled down at the dining table with her latest manuscript. A clink here, some rustling there, and before Sophie even finished reading the first paragraph of her book, Anna returned. Peering over the edge of her papers, Sophie questioned, “What’s all this?” 

A handful of berries perched on top of a fresh stack of pancakes - made from scratch of course. Beside the tower of fluffy goodness sat a bundle of bacon pressed together like logs. “Making sure you have energy, that’s all,” Anna sang as she began to pour syrup over the breakfast. Sophie’s eyes narrowed as she considered her friend’s words. Anna was certainly _kind_ , but she was more of a whimsical love sort of nice as opposed to _motherly_. 

While Anna wasn’t above pitying her, Sophie wondered if her friend had more ulterior motives. After all, this was the woman who plied her with free alcohol under the guise of a girls’ night out, only to later “accidentally” run into a male colleague who just so happened to be single.

Well, regardless of Anna’s motives, Sophie wasn’t one to refuse a delicious, and namely free, breakfast. The meal went by relatively eventless before Anna spoke up, “Sherlock and John need help with a case, so I volunteered your services.” 

Anna knew to wait until her friend’s cheeks were stuffed with food before dropping her request. It would give her enough time to defend herself while Sophie choked on syrup and pancakes. “Dammit Anna,” Sophie exclaimed. She coughed up some crumbs before stuttering, “I don’t need to be babysat while you’re at the office! I have my own work too, you know!”

“I know, I know,” Anna replied quickly, “but you know how important their cases are. And it’s about art, which is your area of expertise! I swear I’m not trying to baby you or anything, they wouldn’t have asked if it wasn’t important!” 

Sophie wished she could will her eyes to roll even further to the back of her head before responding, “Anna. I’m a children’s book illustrator. Saying that ‘art’ is my ‘area of expertise’ is a bit of a stretch wouldn’t you say?”

“You don’t give yourself enough credit. Besides, they’re kind of expecting you and we’re already late,” Anna’s voice trailed off as she attempted to nonchalantly grab her friend’s things to head out the door. 

\--

To a normal passerby, the street below 221B Baker Street would seem nothing other than ordinary. Just your typical street of pedestrians shuffling to their next destination with the occasional beep of a car here or there. Sophie knew better though. This was just the calm before whatever storm her friend thrust her into today. If Sherlock was anything like the stories Anna would come home with, then Sophie was definitely in for a treat.

_Oh my God, Soph. You won’t believe what’s in their fridge! I went over to borrow some milk, and of course they didn’t have any. Do you know what they had instead? Eyes in a jar. Human eyes! In. A. Jar!_

_Soph, did you know that Sherlock owns a gun? An actual gun! I only found out because I heard him shooting it at our shared wall. Isn’t that crazy?_

_Sherlock just asked me what The Voice was, and I had to explain to him why ordinary people would be entertained by watching people in a singing competition! I didn’t even know that he owned a television!_

A squeal escaped her when the black door suddenly flew open, jerking her out of her thoughts. Smooth, real smooth. Sherlock’s long frame towered over her as he peered down between his dark curls. His expression remained neutral as he flatly asked, “What are you two doing here?” 

Sophie’s head immediately whipped around to Anna. “Yes, Anna,” Sophie’s words squeezed through gritted teeth, “What _are_ we doing here?” John suddenly appeared behind Sherlock, completely unaware of the tension. He continued to lock the door behind him while cheerfully saying, “It’s so nice to have your help today, Sophie.” 

It was Sherlock’s turn to jerk his head towards John. “Ah, yes. About that,” John awkwardly started, “Sophie here is an artist. Aren’t you? Well, anyways, I figured that since our next case was at the National Gallery, we could have an expert opinion on the matter. Right? Yes, exactly.” His eyes shot to Anna as he silently pleaded with her jump in at any time to help him out before he rambled himself into deeper trouble.

Before Anna could respond, Sherlock scoffed, “I don’t need any _help_ on my cases. Especially not from someone so _emotionally unbalanced_ at the moment. John wouldn’t even be necessary if it wasn’t for his medical and military training.” In that moment, Anna and John immediately jumped in. Anna defending her friend’s emotional stability and intellect ( _she has a Masters degree Sherlock!_ ) while John simultaneously rebuking Sherlock ( _you’re not above asking for help, and you don’t have to be such an ass about it_ ).

Sophie couldn’t help but distinctly feel offended by the ensuing arguments. She didn’t need a babysitter, nor did want to defend her mental stability. Besides, she wasn’t someone to ever be pitied, and she definitely did not enjoy feeling like a child being forced on a playdate with Sherlock. She suddenly flinched when a hand gently gripped her shoulder. 

She only got the tail end of whatever Anna was saying to her. Sophie slowly nodded in confusion as Anna gave her friend a hug before saying goodbye and jumping on a cab. What did she miss? She really ought to stop getting lost in her thoughts like that. 

As soon as Anna disappeared into the cab, Sherlock turned on Sophie in a disapproving manner. “You didn’t catch any of that did you? I can already tell what a big help you’ll be today,” he sneered. Without missing a beat, he flipped up the collar of his coat and threw his arm up to hail a new cab. John gingerly stepped up next to Sophie and tried to offer words of encouragement. This was going to be a long day for Sophie, and she was already regretting moving next door to the man named Sherlock Holmes.


	4. The Nightmare

The noon sun sat high in the sky as the trio arrived at the steps of the National Gallery. The large white building spilled over an expanse of concrete while being flanked by two sizable fountains. Sophie felt the warm sunlight tickle her face as she lifted her chin up to fully take in the long white columns situated ahead of the entrance. Her momentary peace was cut short by Sherlock’s voice as he muttered, “Whenever you’re done sunbathing, you can meet us inside. We are on a schedule after all.” 

His lean legs briskly strode up the steps two at a time while Sophie climbed after him as gracefully as she could. Coming up just under five foot seven, she would never consider herself short. But even then, she was no match to Sherlock’s six feet of basically just leg. She definitely had nothing on the man if he was in a hurry. Sophie looked over at John, and felt comforted knowing that she wasn’t the only one struggling to keep up with Sherlock’s pace. 

The clicks of their heels reverberated against the marble hall as they strode into the lobby. Sherlock slowed his pace before stopping in front of a man dressed in a crisp suit with salt and pepper hair and deep set eyes. “Mr. Finaldi,” Sherlock noted with a curt nod. The man extended his hand forward and replied, “Please, Gabriele is fine.” The man took turns shaking hands with Sherlock and John before turning to curiously eye Sophie. 

“I didn’t know there was a third member of your agency,” he remarked. Before Sophie could answer, Sherlock dismissively responded, “She has nothing to do with the _business_ of what I do. John’s taking her on a field trip with us today because she apparently can’t be trusted to spend the day alone.” 

Sophie generally considered herself non-violent, but in that moment she felt an urge to slap that conceited grin off Sherlock’s face. Social decorum be damned - she would not let him talk down to her like that. Especially not to the director of the National Gallery! And if it took a good ass-whooping to shut this man up, then Sherlock had something coming for him. 

She not-so-subtly pushed past Sherlock with her shoulder before extending her long fingers towards Gabriele. 

“Sophie Carter. I’m here as a _favor_ to Mr. Holmes seeing as this case is art related. I received my Masters in Art History from Oxford.” 

She was taken aback by how smug her voice sounded in her ears. Perhaps Sherlock was rubbing off on her already, and she’d only met the man twice. If Mr. Finaldi noticed the pride in Sophie’s voice though, he didn’t show it. Instead, he enthusiastically shook her hand and remarked, “Impressive! Well, it looks like I’m in good company here to solve this case. Please, follow me.” 

Sophie turned to wink at Sherlock before catching up to walk alongside the director. He rolled his eyes at John’s magnificent grin. If this was just a taste of what snark Sophie had hiding up her seemingly docile sleeve, then John was definitely going to enjoy her company. They began to weave through the museum. Gabriele and Sophie discussed a recent exhibition at the Tate Modern while John basked in Sherlock’s agitation towards Sophie stealing a bit of his thunder. 

The group slowed as Mr. Finaldi came to a stop in front of a single painting. Stretching three feet by four feet, the canvas sat within an ornamental gilded frame. Sherlock uncharacteristically stood back as he watched Sophie slowly release a breath through her nostrils. She leaned forward to gaze at the female form painted across the canvas. The illustrated woman was splayed across her bed, arms thrown above her head, and back arching in a suggestive manner. A demon sat upon her chest as a crazed horse peered out from the darkness.

“The Nightmare...” She breathed out quietly. As if on auto-pilot, her hand reached out to caress the canvas. The tips of her fingers brushed over the painting as a hundred thoughts blurred in her mind. She was thrown back into reality when John exclaimed, “Sophie! You can’t touch the art!” 

She turned to him, but Sherlock interrupted her yet again. “But she can. Why is that Sophie?” he asked. Shaking off her irritation at Sherlock’s refusal to let her answer anything for herself without being prompted, she replied, “Because it’s not real.” 

“Exactly,” Mr. Finaldi chimed in, “While most museums are concerned with theft, I awoke this morning with the opposite problem. We don’t carry this Fuseli painting. I checked this morning, and the original is still at the proper location. Yet, a near perfect copy of _The Nightmare_ sits here in our gallery, and we don’t know why or how it came to be.” 

Completely engrossed in the fake painting, something suddenly caught Sophie’s attention. It wasn’t a near perfect copy, now was it? No, something was off. Something was wrong, and yet familiar all at the same time. She leaned in closer to the painting, completely ignoring the fact that all three men had ceased to speak and were intently watching her. Her nose was nearly pressed against the canvas when she suddenly gasped and fell back from the work as if it had reached out and touched her. 

Sherlock caught her from behind in his arms before she hit the floor. She continued to stumble backwards into his chest looking as if she saw the devil himself. He gripped her tightly, as concern flashed across his face. John was immediately by her side working to calm down the hysterical woman with his soothing words. 

“Sophie. Sophie! Look at me, it’s ok. Tell us what’s wrong. You’re not alone anymore, you’re here with Sherlock and myself. Whatever it is that this painting is doing to you, you can tell us. Let us help you!” 

She leaned into Sherlock’s shoulder while gripping the lapel of his wool coat. Sheer, unbridled panic splashed across her face. The last thing she remembered was uttering the name “Jim Moriarty” before blackness consumed her vision. Sherlock swept her legs up over his arms as he lifted the woman up bridal style. “We’ll get in touch on a later date then, Mr. Finaldi,” he nodded towards the greying man before turning to leave with John in turn.


	5. Facing Forward

Hushed arguing slowly brought Sophie out of her slumber. She continued to feign sleep as she inconspicuously eavesdropped on the conversation. 

“No. Absolutely not! I don’t care about your stupid feud or your bruised ego, Sherlock. Jim Moriarty is a total psychopath!” 

Sophie recognized that Anna’s usual sing-song voice had become noticeably shrill. 

“But _how_? How does she know Moriarty? If he’s alive, I need to know! It’s a matter of national security!” 

Ah, Sherlock. 

“National security? You don’t care about national security, and you sure as hell don’t give a damn about Sophie. I will not let you use her as a pawn in your sick obsession with that murderer!” Anna spat back. 

“Obsession?! You-“ Sherlock was cut off by John’s pleading voice. 

“You’re both being selfish. Not only is your arguing going to wake Sophie, but neither of you have considered what she wants. I don’t know how she knows Moriarty, but she has the right to decide whether or not she wants to get involved in this case!” 

The floorboards creaked as Sherlock shifted his weight to face the woman lying on his couch. “She’s already awake though,” he pointed. Sophie briefly debated between owning up to her nosiness or to go through the motions of yawning and stretching. Seeing as she was in the company of the great Mr. Holmes, she decided putting on an act wasn’t worth the effort. She sat up and faced the group in silence. 

“Oh my dear,” Anna breathed as she rushed to her friend. Sophie welcomed the warm embrace and slid down so her head was leaning against Anna’s shoulder. Although Anna was strong minded, she would ultimately relent and respect Sophie’s wishes. 

For once, Sophie finally got the final say between Sherlock and Anna. 

She sighed and evenly stated, “I want to help with the case. If Moriarty really is still alive, then I need to know. I need to...do something about it.” 

Anna pushed away from her friend and steadily held her gaze. Even Sherlock was taken by the firmness of Sophie’s statement, and the confidence in her tone. Despite talking about facing Jim Moriarty - master manipulator, murderer, and criminal - Sophie showed no fear. Perhaps there was more to the woman than just being a children’s book illustrator. 

He moved to pull a chair to the center of the room and motioned for Sophie to take a seat. Instead, she ignored Sherlock’s gesture and purposefully strolled past him to settle in his usual seat. He tilted his head and looked upon her with slight amusement. “I am not a client, nor am I a victim,” she plainly stated while perching on the edge of Sherlock’s chair.

“Very well then, why don’t we start with how you know Moriarty?” 

Everyone was gathered around the living room - John in quiet concern, Sherlock in curiosity, and Anna is apprehension. Sophie sighed as her memory took the group eight years back in time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this was a short chapter, but we're finally going to get more Sherlock and Sophie from here on out! Thanks for being patient as I sloooowly built the story up!


	6. Nostalgic Facades

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sophie takes the group back in time to when she first met Moriarty.

_Eight Years Ago_

A bell chimed from above as Sophie slowly pushed open a narrow door. Tucked away off an alley way stood her favorite art supply boutique. Despite existing in the age of new and now, this little shop was still steeped in nostalgia, and hinted at times now past. Even when left alone, you could hear the wooden floorboard creaking with pressure. One could get lost amongst the crisscrossing shelving filled to the brim with the best. Canvases haphazardly laid scattered around the store - some brilliantly white ready to breathe a new life, while others seemed half-heartedly abandoned ready to gather dust instead of color. She breathed in the scent of cotton and turpentine and immediately felt at home.

Despite coming for one specific item, Sophie began to aimlessly wander up and down the aisles. That was her life really - full of juxtapositions. She loved to create stories through painting, but according to her parents that was no way to make a living. So she relented and accepted their compromise - study art history and still enjoy the creative realm while pursuing a respectable career at a gallery or museum of some sort. So here she was - nineteen years old and somehow pursuing an education and career she would come to hate in a world she so deeply loved. She was lost in another mental tangent when a distinctly Irish voice broke her chain of thought. 

“Can I help you, miss?”

She looked up into a pair of deep brown eyes, and was immediately taken by the sight in front of her. Despite donning a dirtied apron, the man looked like he distinctly did not belong in the store. Almost as if he was playing a part, as opposed to actually working. He noticed her reaction and chuckled, “Is it that obvious that it’s my first day here?”

Sophie returned with a giggle and replied, “Then perhaps you’re the one in need of help here.” 

Did she just giggle? That was extremely out of character for Sophie. She resisted the mental urge to bang her head into a display of markers over and over again. The man returned with a dazzling smile. Despite his usual aversion to typical _girlish_ displays, something about the raven haired girl interested the Irishman. Maybe it was the dichotomy in personality he could sense in her. She was somehow flirting with him in both a confident and apologetically shy manner. Interesting. 

Despite his musings, he still remained completely fixated on the woman in front of him. A crooked smile danced across his face as he retorted, “Trust me, I need all the help in the world.” Sophie didn’t know what to make of his vague, yet somewhat personal, statement. She shifted a bit, beginning to feel uncomfortable under his acute gaze. Although his eyes remained trained on hers, she couldn’t help but feel her skin crawl - as if his look was actually burrowing into her soul instead of just resting on her face. 

A pregnant pause stilled the conversation before she awkwardly replied, “Uhm, do you carry palette knives?” He surveyed her for a moment longer before turning on his heel and motioned for her to follow him down the aisle. They stopped in front of a shelf, and Sophie saw the glint of metal flashing just slightly out of reach. The young man saw her hesitation as she stared at the top of the shelf. 

He cleared his throat and said, “Here, let me get that for you.” Sophie stepped out of the way with gratitude and asked him to be careful. He paused and replied, “Careful? They’re blunt, aren’t they?” She nodded and seemed to be lost in thought again. She replied to him quietly, “Anything can be dangerous if the intent is wrong.” Her voice dipped off, and the man couldn’t help but feel like the statement was made more for herself, and less as a response to him. 

His brows screwed up together as he carefully considered the woman in front of him. There it was again. One moment she was awkward, and the next mysteriously dark. He wasn’t sure what to make of her, but he did know that he was intrigued. It wasn’t very often that anything could hold this man’s attention, and he was curious to find out more. 

He plucked a single palette knife from the bin above, and smoothly laid it in her outstretched hand. “My name is Richard by the way,” he smiled at her. She returned the warm gesture and replied, “Sophie. Nice to make your acquaintance!”

\--

Sophie was interrupted as Anna set a warm mug of tea in front of her.

“Thanks Anna.” 

She sighed and turned to look at the clock sitting on the mantle. How she had ended up talking about her ex-boyfriend in the living room of two men who thought skulls and bullet holes were appropriate decor stumped her. She didn’t even realize that she had been talking non-stop for half an hour. Although thirty minutes didn’t seem long, she felt like a lifetime had passed. 

Anna felt the weight on Sophie’s shoulders, and immediately came to her friend’s defense. She turned to the men and stated, “She’s tired, guys. Maybe we can finish this tomorrow?” Always the sympathetic one, John immediately nodded and stood to help Anna find their coats. Sherlock sat looking into the distance in silence, as if he were the only one in the room. 

He suddenly turned and announced, “You can’t return to your apartment tonight.” 

Anna recoiled away from the man. The nerve of him! And here, people usually accused her of being the bossy one. Clearly, they haven’t met the likes of Sherlock Holmes. He continued, “If this is really the work of Moriarty...given his history with Sophie...neither of you are safe alone.” As irritating as it was to admit it, perhaps Sherlock had a point. 

“I can stay with my boyfriend, but there’s only room for one...” Anna’s voiced was laced with guilt as she was torn between staying safe or staying with her friend. Sherlock stood and declared, “then it’s settled. She’ll stay with us tonight.” 

Sophie rounded on the man in exasperation, “Excuse me? I’m not staying anywhere alone with you!” He tilted his head down and looked at her with increasing boredom. John stepped in and gently held her arm. 

“He’s right, Sophie. If Moriarty is still alive...there’s no place safer than with us.”

She hated to admit it, but it didn’t seem like she had a choice. Besides, if Moriarty was really looking for her, she didn’t want Anna to be anywhere near her. He knew how much she meant to her, and the last thing Sophie wanted was for her best friend to become collateral damage in whatever deranged game Moriarty was about to begin. She huffed one last time in an attempt to show just how much contempt she had for Sherlock before sweeping into his bedroom. If he was going to insist on her staying, then she was going to make sure it would be in the comfort of an actual bed and not on that damn couch.


	7. Intimate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock struggles with Sophie, and she reveals more information about her relationship with Jim.

Darkness covered every corner of Sherlock’s bedroom. Sophie’s chest slowly rose and fell as the silence of nighttime stretched its arms into the apartment of 221B Baker Street. A single figure stood at the foot of the bed, staring down at the resting woman. As his look continued to rake over the sleeping woman’s figure, Sophie suddenly jerked awake and screamed as she made eye contact with the man. 

He didn’t even flinch when he plainly stated, “You snore.” 

She pulled the covers up over her chest and screeched, “What the fuck is wrong with you, Sherlock?” 

“You’re in my room.” 

“And?! That doesn’t excuse the fact that you’re being totally inappropriate right now!” 

“I can’t sleep.” 

“That’s not my fucking problem. You’re the one who insisted that I stay-”

Sophie stopped mid sentence as she carefully considered the expression on Sherlock’s face. Was that fear? No, not quite. Disappointment? Not that either. She sighed. She’d probably have a hard time sleeping as well if a murderer who enjoyed chasing her suddenly came back from the grave. Sure, Moriarty might have been unhinged, but he was never a bad boyfriend. That is, if you ignored his crime syndicate and the joy he found in killing others. At least he had the courtesy to keep Sophie away from all of the ugly parts of his life. But Sherlock on the other hand? He had been actively hunted by Moriarty for no good reason other than just for fun. 

She pushed the covers aside and scooted over to the left. Sherlock continued to stand in silence, now casting his eyes elsewhere while deep in thought. “Get in,” she whispered. He sharply turned to meet her tired eyes. “It’s fine,” she continued, “we’re both adults here, and we can share a bed without being weird about it.” As the woman continued to shift, she didn’t notice when her shirt got caught in the sheets. With every inch she moved, her top slowly pulled away from her, stretching the collar of her knit top to reveal just a silver more of her collarbone.

It had been a long time since Sherlock had been in such a private setting with someone of the opposite sex. Yet, it wasn’t the idea of having intercourse that was making him feel so much hesitation. He knew that it would never happen between him and Sophie. Rather, it was the idea of being so exposed with her - sharing a space close together with no physical expectations - that was putting him off guard. To him, that vulnerability was vastly unfamiliar and uncomfortable.

Sophie noticed that Sherlock hadn’t moved yet. Only Sherlock could make the act of going to sleep so difficult and complicated. She sat up on her elbow and cast her gaze upwards. The moonlight only illuminated half her face, but it was enough for Sherlock to see her exhaustion and frustration. 

“Look, I can control myself. Can you?”

She snickered before flipping onto her other side to face the wall away from Sherlock. An agonizingly awkward moment passed before the man finally slipped in between the sheets. Pulling the comforter up to his chin, he turned to face away from the woman, making sure to leave a conservative valley between the two. 

\--

“Sophie? Are you up? Sherlock disappeared without his coat or scarf, and he’s not picking up his phone either,” John’s panicked voice penetrated through the closed door. His quiet knocks quickly picked up in speed and volume as his question was met with silence. “Sophie? Sophie! I’m going to open the door now,” he exclaimed. 

The door slowly squeaked open, and John stiffly stared at the sight in front of him. He couldn’t tell where Sherlock’s curls ended and Sophie’s dark locks began. The sheets were twisted between the pair’s limbs, and John noted how Sherlock’s arm snaked underneath Sophie’s back as his chin gently rested behind the sleeping girl’s neck. Their legs wove together amongst the sheets and Sherlock’s other arm was draped over her waist while his large palm gently rested on her hip. 

John hissed, “Sherlock! I know you’re awake! I swear to God if you took advantage of-”

Sherlock lazily untangled himself from the dreaming woman while nonchalantly swinging himself to the edge of the bed. His bare feet quietly touched the floorboards as he idly pulled a sweater on over his bare chest. Waking up to John’s judgement and scolding was not how Sherlock wanted his day to start. 

“Relax, John. Nothing happened last night. Unlike _some_ people, I can maintain platonic relationships with women,” Sherlock muttered. 

John threw his hands up at the taller man just as he stood up and brushed past John. Completely ignoring the man’s indignation, Sherlock asked, “Is there any coffee left?” 

John closed the door behind his friend and sighed, “On the counter, behind the eyeballs.”

\--

Sophie awoke an hour later feeling surprisingly well rested. Not only was Sherlock the master at deductions, but he apparently had a knack for picking great mattresses. She quickly got up and padded her way to the bathroom to freshen up before tackling the two men quietly chatting in the living room. By the time she returned, John and Sherlock were already hovering over their desk staring downwards. 

Without looking up, Sherlock motioned Sophie to come closer. As she neared the desk, she realized that both men were staring at the artwork from the museum. “Gabriele sent over the painting this morning,” John explained. He looked up at her and continued, “Since this is a fake, they didn’t need to keep it around. They’re still concerned about the break-in though, so they want us to figure how what’s going on.” 

It was Sherlock’s turn to address the woman. He looked at her intently before asking, “Why do you think Moriarty has a hand in this?” 

Sophie felt her blood rush to her cheeks as her mind quickly combed through tactful ways to explain herself. Sherlock caught onto the sudden embarrassment and decided to further prod her, “Does it have anything to do with the _sexual_ nature of this painting?” 

She reached down inside, and mustered as much confidence as she could. She was a woman for goodness sake, and she had nothing to be embarrassed about. She cleared her throat to prevent herself from stuttering before replying, “As a matter of fact, _yes_ , it does have to do with something _sexual_ in nature.” She relished in Sherlock’s surprised face. He didn’t actually expect her to respond positively to his taunting. 

Sophie retorted, “Not that I would expect a _virgin_ to understand.”

John coughed in an attempt to mask his snort of laughter. Sherlock and Sophie both turned to the man - one hiding a smirk while the other looked on in an offended manner. She continued, “Look, I might be reading too much into this, but the work itself screams Jim to me. The dark nature, drama, torment...and yes, the sexual themes. But it’s not just that. Look!” She pointed to the drapes underneath the woman’s body. They were white with pale blue flowers dotting the fabric. 

Sherlock leaned in and grimaced. How could he have missed something so obvious? 

“The drapes. They’re wrong. They’re yellow and red in the original painting...” Sherlock explained to the man next to him. John looked closer and asked, “But why? What does it mean?” 

Sophie paused, thinking of how to answer the man’s question. Finally, she responded, “Jim and I had our first date at the National Gallery. We shared our first kiss in the wing where they found the painting, and the first time we had sex was on white sheets with blue flowers embroidered into it.” 

Sherlock scoffed, “Jim Moriarty hardly seems the type of man to sleep on white sheets with flowers embroidered on it.” 

“He wasn’t. At the time, I still knew him as Richard Brook. Even then, he was still so private, and would never allow me to see his flat. I was living with a roommate at the time, so we ended up booking a weekend at a bed and breakfast for some privacy. Said place had white sheets with blue flowers on it. You know, I really shouldn’t have to justify what kind of sheets I choose to have sex on!” 

Sherlock’s face showed complete and total lack of emotion as his gaze shifted from the woman, to the painting, and back to the woman again. John realized that Sherlock had already entered his mind palace, and threw his hands up in defeat. He know that the detective was no longer present, so to speak, and it would be a long time before they had a productive conversation. 

“Do you want coffee?” The doctor asked. They might as well get comfortable as they waited for Sherlock to return to the present. Sophie nodded once, and moved to sit on Sherlock’s armchair as John left for the kitchen. She was never really one for nostalgia, but she could no longer push away Jim Moriarty from her thoughts.

Sophie felt herself begin another one of her usual mental tangents, except this time she spoke out loud. Not to anyone in particular - Sherlock definitely wouldn’t be interested in her thoughts, and Dr. Watson had busied himself in the kitchen. 

“I should have known better, I guess. That there was something deeper and darker to Jim. Now that I think back on it, he even tried to drop little hints here and there.” Sophie started to finger the fraying edges of her t-shirt while continuing to talk to herself, “Like when we used to go galleries together...he’d always say that everything we saw was only face value. That there was always more hidden behind those canvases...”

A loud ripping noise interrupted Sophie just as John returned holding two mugs of coffee. The pair stared in shock as Sherlock flipped the painting over and tore the backing from the frame with his hands. His movements were fluid as he finally released the canvas from the frame and pulled it up towards the window. The stoic man simply murmured, “Curious.”


	8. Spark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and Sophie get to know each other better, and Sophie develops a devious plan.

The handwriting was unmistakeable. Thin and elongated letters sat closely together with a slight tilt to the right. Each letter was evenly spaced in elegance, but every word ended with a sharp angular flick. Somehow the words seemed to simultaneously cry gracefulness and wild fire. These words were definitely written by Jim Moriarty. 

“I have been one acquainted with the night.

I have looked down the saddest city lane.

I have stood still and stopped the sound of feet.”

Sherlock flopped onto the couch and pressed his fingertips to his temple. He pointedly look at Sophie in silence. 

“What?” 

Sherlock rolled his eyes and responded, “Well, I’m not the one who dated Moriarty.”

“From what I’ve heard, you might as well have.”

John sighed as he set the mug of coffee down in front of Sophie. He was beginning to feel less like a doctor, and more like a parent trying to get two difficult children to play nice together. He sat facing the two bickering adults and did his best fo smooth out the tension. The gentle doctor pleaded, “Look, we’re all a bit stressed with the whole Moriarty returning from the grave situation. But we all need to work together, okay? There isn’t anyone else who would know Moriarty better than the two of you.”

Sherlock stood up and moved to sit at the edge of his desk. His legs spread straight in front of him as his back stretched backwards. He shifted his weight onto his palms as each finger unfurled to lay flat against the tabletop. As much as the moment required the upmost concentration and focus, Sophie couldn’t help but feel her mind wander to Sherlock’s lean figure, and how warm he felt the night before. Although she had fallen asleep before him and woken up after, Sophie could have sworn that Sherlock was a cuddler. 

Sherlock groaned, “Typical. She’s not even listening anymore.” 

Sophie felt blood rush to her cheeks as she snapped back to reality. “Look, I have no idea what those words mean. I’ve never heard them before, okay?” 

Ever the pacifist, John stepped in with, “I think we’re all a bit tense right now. Why don’t we take a lunch break?” Sophie nodded enthusiastically. A hot plate of anything sounded like a good cure to whatever insanity that was causing her to think of Sherlock as anything less than annoying. “Aren’t you supposed to be leaving for that visit with your sister? What was it? Some sort of reconciliation attempt?” Sherlock asked while waving his hand around dismissively. 

“As a matter of fact, yes,” Watson replied, “So it would do you well to start playing nice with our newest houseguest.” Sophie shot out of her seat in protest. Sure, she could have spent the week alone with Doctor Watson. That man possessed maturity, empathy, and kindness. But Sherlock Holmes? No way. Not in this life, and not in another. If he wanted to keep those pretty dark locks on his head, then he’d have to learn to shut his mouth, or she’d have to find another place to stay. 

Just as Sophie began to object, Sherlock cut in, “I really don’t have to the mental capacity to babysit right now, John.” There he went again - interrupting Sophie and making sure he got the last word in. The woman rounded on Sherlock and counted, “Who is doing the babysitting here? It looks like you don’t even know how to cook for yourself. And don’t get me started on the state of your bedroom!” 

Sherlock sniggered, “Yet that didn’t deter you from getting in between my sheets.” 

Sophie began to stalk towards the man before John quickly moved to stand between the feuding individuals. He was more or less an expert on what people looked like before punching the detective. “Listen!” Watson shouted, “Sophie. You have to stay here for your own safety. And Sherlock, you clearly need Sophie’s help in this case. Now, you both put your childish egos away before Moriarty kills the lot of us!” 

Hearing Moriarty’s name immediately calmed the room. “Fine,” Sherlock spat, “but I’m choosing lunch.” 

Sophie and Watson simultaneously rolled their eyes. As much as he tried to put off a demeanor of mystery and intrigue, he could be such a baby at times. It was a good thing that she had a lot of experience dealing with children.

\--

Sophie and Sherlock walked side by side in complete silence. They were experiencing one of the rarer warm days London had to offer. If she wasn’t so nervous about spending time alone with the detective, Sophie would have enjoyed how the sun felt as it gently grazed her bare arms. Instead, she allowed her mind to wander as per usual as she blindly followed Sherlock. He insisted on choosing lunch, and in his typical haughty manner, refused to divulge exactly where they were eating. They turned a corner, and Sophie reached into her bag to pull her phone out. She could at least take advantage of the silence and get in touch with her best friend.

_Hey, how are you? Everything okay at Jack’s? - Sophie_

A second barely passed before a familiar ding sounded on her phone. 

_I’m fine! Everything is quiet here. I’m more concerned about you though. - Anna_

_I’ll be ok. If I can survive Jim the first time around, I’m sure I can do it again. - Sophie_

_Ha! How is John and the big baby he lives with? - Anna_

_Well, John actually went out of town for the week. It’s just Sherlock and myself for the time being. -Sophie_

Sophie stared down at the ellipsis slowly blinking as Anna took an uncharacteristically long time to reply. Would she disapprove? Sophie definitely didn’t want to worry her friend more than necessary. It was enough that she was getting cryptic clues from her supposedly dead ex-boyfriend. Now she was expected to share an apartment with another man who didn’t seem to be any more friendly than Jim. 

_You have the worst luck attracting psychos in your life, huh? - Anna_

Sophie’s laugh was cut off as she noticed the detective nonchalantly peering over her shoulder. 

“Hey! Where are your manners?” She said indignantly as she bumped his shoulder away with her own.

“My manners are just fine. _You’re_ the one talking about me behind my back. For the record, I am _not_ a _psycho_.” 

The more time she spent with Sherlock, the more she was convinced that he was just an immature child trapped inside the body of man. She couldn’t believe the sight before her eyes. Sherlock Homes, world famous detective, was standing before her making air quotes around the word “psycho”. She was supposed to trust this man to keep her safe?

“A psycho would never admit that he was a psycho.” 

Sherlock huffed in response to Sophie’s playful laughing before the two resumed walking. She couldn’t help but smile as she eyed the exasperated look on Sherlock’s face. The pair went back to silence, albeit a more comfortable one now. Although neither would admit it, they were beginning to feel more and more relaxed together. Sure, they wouldn’t be sharing secrets and braiding each others’ hair just quite yet, but something about Sophie’s gentle nature softened the harsh edges that made up Sherlock.

A few blocks later, and they stopped in front of a small shop with no seating. A counter ran wall to wall in front of the entrance, and the space was cast in a yellow tinge from the fluorescent lighting. A black board ran across the back wall with small white individual letters stuck to it listing out the limited menu. Sherlock insisted that Sophie to wait outside while he got the takeaway.

She countered, “Why? I’m perfectly capable of paying for myself!” 

“I know. But a psycho would never buy someone lunch, right? ” Sherlock winked before leaving Sophie to wait outside. Within ten minutes, he returned with two white paper bags in tow. After handing one off, he immediately tore into his own bag. 

“I’m not ungrateful for the free lunch, but there are only chips in here.”

He nonchalantly shrugged in response and continued to eat. Sophie was too hungry to dive into figuring out why Sherlock thought chips was a complete meal. After muttering a quick thanks, she opened the greasy bag and began to eat. They both leaned against the wall in silence until Sophie turned to Sherlock. 

“Do you ever eat real food?”

“What do you mean? Of course all of the food I eat is real.” 

“Well, not in the literal sense. When was the last time you actually took the time to cook a hot meal from scratch?” 

He sighed and turned towards her. “Sophie, I’m a busy a man who would much rather pursue intellectually stimulating activities. Cooking is not such an activity for me.” 

She rolled her eyes. “If you’re not taking care of yourself physically, how do you expect to perform your best mentally? Besides, cooking is difficult!” 

“How hard could weighing ingredients and following instructions be?”

“There’s a difference between just cooking, and cooking _well_.”

Sophie and Sherlock were unsure of how to continue to conversation, until she got a brilliant idea. In fact, it was probably the best idea she’s ever had. She tossed their empty chip bags before grabbing his hand and tugging him down the street. He looked perplexed, but still allowed the woman to lead him. Something about her self-assured attitude calmed him, and he simply followed behind.

In fact, he was so relaxed that he didn’t even realize they were still holding hands.


	9. Domestic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and Sophie enjoy an afternoon so domestic, they might even forget the danger they're in.

“You can’t be serious.”

Sherlock stared down at a small silver shopping cart. Sophie nudged him towards the blue handle and held back her smirk. She almost felt guilty for finding pleasure in watching the man awkwardly bend down towards the cart that was just _slightly_ too short for his tall stature. 

“Any day now, lovebirds!” Another shopper chirped behind the two. 

Sophie laughed as she began to walk away from Sherlock. She turned to look over her shoulder and joked, “Any day now, _sweetie_.” Sherlock groaned in protest, but still grabbed the cart and pulled it out behind Sophie. An internal struggle began to brew inside of Sherlock. Here he was - a man who had faced death countless times, solved the world’s most difficult puzzles, gone head to head with the worst criminals of his time - and yet, he was feeling distinctly out of place and unsure of what to do inside of a Tesco!

“You know, our time could be better spent figuring out the painting instead of...” He paused to watch the woman in front of him softly squeeze a tomato in her palm. He uncharacteristically held back the desire to lecture her about how squeezing tomatoes does nothing except speed up the process of them going bad. Of course she would be the type of person to do things like squeeze produce and tap fruit to see how ripe they were. She ignored Sherlock and instead tore off a plastic bag before handing it to him. She instead replied, “Hold this open for me.”

He rolled his eyes and started to fumble with the top of the bag. He first tried to peel the sides away from each other with both hands. When that didn’t work, he switched to rubbing the bag back and forth in an attempt to get the top to open. A glare was thrown towards Sophie as she used every ounce of self-control and maturity she possessed to stop from giggling.

“There’s nothing _humorous_ about...” He grimaced. 

A wide smile split across Sophie’s face as she gingerly plucked the bag from his hands and proceeded to effortlessly open the bag. Normally Sherlock would have accused the woman of mocking him, but something about the authenticity of her smile made him catch his breath. Growing up with a brother like Mycroft along with an unusually high intellect didn’t exactly make him popular with other children. Because of his uniqueness, he wasn’t used to kindness or the idea that people could just simply be _playful_ as opposed to cruel.

Sophie dropped a few tomatoes into the bag before swiftly twisting the top and tying a quick knot. “It’s ok, you’ll get the next one,” she teased before moving ahead to rummage through stacks of basil. The pair continued on like this - wandering up and down the aisles while periodically stopping for Sophie to toss something new into the basket. Sherlock enjoyed the fact that they had an unspoken understanding that it was okay to be silent once in a while. As much as he didn’t really mind tolerating Anna, her incessant need to fill the void with talking drove him insane. Despite this , he finally ventured to start a conversation with Sophie. 

“Why are you so calm? I would’ve expected you to show more distress over recent developments.” 

“Well, freaking out wouldn’t exactly be helpful, would it? Besides, sometimes it’s nice to get on in life. It clears the mind.” 

She was now comparing whole wheat pasta to regular yellow pasta. Sherlock was almost amused. A vengeful murderer was on the loose and Sophie was weighing the pros and cons of extra fiber in her spaghetti. He reached over and plucked the plain pasta bag from her hand and dropped it into the basket between them. 

She nudged at Sherlock and laughed, “So the mysterious detective has a pasta preference. Whatever will I learn about him next?” 

He rolled his eyes and pushed past her, ignoring the woman’s teasing chuckles that followed behind. 

\--

An hour later, the pair were back at 221B Baker Street. Sophie busied herself in the kitchen as she attempted to clear some space to put their groceries away. Although Sherlock maintained his usual stoic nature, part of him enjoyed the sound of shuffling in the kitchen. He would never consider himself lonely. In fact, he held immense distaste for social gatherings and the idea of having friends. At the end of the day though, he was still human, wasn’t he? He enjoyed the company of Dr. Watson, but there was something different about the companionship of a woman. 

Sherlock shook off his thoughts, and decided to file his feelings away to the back of the head. Now was not the time for him to go off exploring _feelings_. There was a case ahead of him, and potentially lives at stake. He returned to his chair and stared at the back of the painting now being pinned up on his wall covering where a yellow smiley face once was. 

He slowly drummed his fingers along the armrest and felt himself slowly sinking into his mind palace as he considered the words once again. 

_I have been one acquainted with the night..._

_I have looked down the saddest city lane..._

_I have stood still and stopped the sound of feet..._

Sophie brushed her hands against her pants as she reentered the living room. Noticing Sherlock taking his usual statuesque position on his chair, she realized that it would be some time before he rejoined her in the present. She quietly plopped down across from him, and pulled her legs up underneath herself. Reaching over to the coffee table, she plucked a random book from the stack and began to silently read. Little did she know, even as Sherlock descended deeper and deeper into thought, he could still feel her company. Unbeknownst to even himself, he was starting to enjoy it just the slightest.

\--

The clock jolted Sophie out of her reading as it began to chime at five-thirty. How did time pass her by so quickly? She carefully set her book down in front of her before stretching out against the chair. She didn’t notice one particular detective slyly eyeing her from across the room. His eyes fell on the gentle arch of her slender back as she slowly rolled her shoulders back. The sun was beginning to set, and it cast a beautiful golden hue into the room. The brilliant rays of light bounced against the walls and illuminated Sophie’s soft pale features. 

Her cream skin was delicate like porcelain, and seemed the perfect canvas against her dark lashes and jet black hair. A beautiful juxtaposition that seemed to mimic the disunion that constantly warred inside of her. She delicately leapt to her feet and turned towards Sherlock. 

“Alright Mr. Serious! Time to help me in the kitchen!” 

Sherlock sighed and moved to join Sophie in the kitchen. He would help her, but not without clearly stating just how much he loathed her little project. 

“I really don’t think my talents would be best spent cooking, Sophie” 

“If you’re so clever then why don’t you prove it, detective?” 

If a competition was what she wanted, then that was exactly what Sophie would get. Sherlock unbuttoned the cuffs of his sleeves, and slowly began to roll them up one at a time. He slowly exposed the skin of his arms with each roll, and Sophie tried to keep her gaze casual and her thoughts away from how long and elegant the man next to her looked. Similar to Sherlock, she too pushed thoughts of the other to the back of her mind. Now simply was not the time to complicate things. 

They stood overlooking an array of ingredients to make spaghetti - _”sauce from scratch, of course”_ Sophie made a point to state. They started out awkwardly passing ingredients around and fumbling with the recipe. It had been a long time since either had been in such an intimate setting with another. They stood almost touching shoulders as one chopped tomatoes, and the other worked to peel basil from its stem. Despite the initial discomfort, they soon fell into a rhythm, moving across the kitchen in sync as if performing a dance. 

Finally, a timer dinged and Sophie threw a pinch of fresh basil on top of their completed dishes with a flourish. “Alright, Mr. Holmes. I guess you’re not a terrible sous chef to have around in the kitchen,” she joked as she swept two plates up from the kitchen table and brought them into the living room. She would have preferred to enjoy properly sitting down at a table for their hard earned meal, but eating next to microscopes and unspeakable science experiments didn’t make for the most appetizing environment. 

“I have a surprise for you,” she mischievously stated with an impish smile. Sherlock moved to the living room and cocked an eyebrow in curiosity. Sophie reached into her purse and pulled out a bottle of red wine. “No Italian meal is complete without wine!” Sophie sang before gripping the slightly loosened cork with her teeth and pulling it out with a single flourish. A rare smile danced across Sherlock’s lips. This woman was just full of surprises, wasn’t she? 

Sophie left for the kitchen, and returned with two mugs of red wine. Of course the doctor and the detective wouldn’t have wineglasses. Was she even surprised at this point? She set down a mug in front of Sherlock before settling in across from him to dig in to their dinner. As much as he knew Sophie wanted to live in blissful denial of their situation, his desire to problem solve pushed him to re-open the discussion of Moriarty. 

“How long have you known Moriarty?”

Sophie sighed and set her food down. It was going to be one of _those_ nights.

“I didn’t really know Jim Moriarty. The man I knew was Richard Brook. If we’re talking about Richard, then five years.”

“And you had no inkling of his criminal dealings?” 

“Of course not! What do you want me to say, Sherlock? Jim was a master manipulator, and he had me completely wrapped around his finger. I was in love with him.” 

“You _loved_ him.”

Sherlock set his plate down as well and leaned back while resting his chin lightly on his fingertips. Sophie immediately picked up her wine and began drinking. That pose only meant one thing - Sherlock was going to try and “figure her out”.

“Yes, Sherlock. I loved him. I spent five years of my life as his counterpart, and we lived together. Before everything fell apart, I was going to marry the man.” 

“I understand how you met the man. What I don’t understand is why he would bother pursuing a romantic relationship with someone so _simple_?” 

Sophie immediately balked at the way Sherlock stressed the word “simple”. Yeah, she would never win a round of Trivial Pursuit against Sherlock or Jim. But he was just being mean at this point. Although his face didn’t show it, Sherlock felt a twinge of guilt. Logically, he understood why someone would be insulted by what he said. But part of him wanted to lash out at the innocent woman. For some reason he was bothered by hearing her talk about Moriarty so fondly. This emotional pulling and tugging was foreign to him, and he couldn’t compartmentalize it quickly enough before he snapped without thinking.

Sophie huffed and threw her hair back behind her shoulder completely ignoring Sherlock. She would not dignify his cruelty with an answer. The guilt seeped deeper into his psyche before he began to backpedal as gracefully as he could - which wasn’t very graceful at all. 

“What I mean...is...what I’m trying to do is...I would just like to understand your relationship with Moriarty. Perhaps could you share how it began?”

Sophie felt her anger dissipate almost as quickly as it came. She could tell that Sherlock felt something akin to remorse, and it was almost cute how awkward he became. Clearly, the man wasn’t used to feeling the consequences of his words. Sure, he understood that people often reacted negatively to things he said, but to actually feel guilt over said anger? That was something even John would be shocked to see happen. 

She smiled while picking up her mug of wine before she began, “Despite what we all know of Jim Moriarty now, the start of our relationship was actually quite ordinary...”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was probably my favorite chapter to write. Something about imagining Sherlock inside of a Tesco trying to buy groceries like a normal person was both humanizing and humorous. Also, I'm totally the type of person to squeeze fruit at the grocery store!


	10. Dinner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sophie goes back in time again and discusses how she got to know Richard Brook.

_Eight Years Ago_

As much as she wished to have some amazing tale of romance to share with Anna over dinner, that just wasn’t the case for Sophie. Despite her very normal encounter with Richard earlier that afternoon, she couldn’t get the Irishman out of her mind. She was clearly distracted as she watched the candle flame in front of her dance as it licked the sides of the glass. The drone of dinnertime chatter around caused her to close her mind off further, and before she knew it, Anna was snapping her fingers in front of Sophie. 

“Hello? It would be nice if my best friend could actually participate in this conversation before I look like a crazy person talking to herself!” 

Sophie’s doe like eyes lifted up to meet Anna’s exasperated face. Although initially irritated, Anna paused. She knew what that look was - Anna was clearly stressed about something. And it was _clearly_ her duty as official best friend to fish out the details. 

“You know you can tell me anything right? It seems like whatever is on your mind is clearly more interesting than how my math final went.” 

The two girls chuckled together. Anna immediately reached to grab a bread roll as she watched Sophie take a huge breathe of air. Whatever Sophie was about to say, it would clearly be good. 

“Ok. Honestly, I don’t even know why I’m so worked up over what happened. I’m sure it’s going to sound so trivial and stupid when I say it out loud...but I...” 

How should she put it? Saying “I can’t stop thinking about this guy” sounded so childish in her head. Although, there wasn’t really an eloquent way to explain how she grew a massive crush on a stranger within a mere twenty minutes. She resigned herself to sounding immature and finished, “...I met this guy today and I can’t stop thinking about him.” 

Anna let out a quiet squeal. She _lived_ for moments like this, and moments like these were rare with Sophie. She was so damn reserved, and it was almost impossible to pique the woman’s interest. Whoever this stranger was, he must have been dashing. Sophie laughed as she watched her dinner partner begin an aggressive assault on the plate of butter in front of her. Anna was clearly excited as she completely lost track of how much butter she was spreading on her roll. 

Sophie reached a hand out and gently placed it over Anna’s knife. “Okay, how about I tell you the whole story before you give yourself a heart attack!” She gently ribbed at her friend. Anna blushed and set her food down, giving Sophie her complete attention as she recounted the afternoon. 

\--

Another squeal escaped Anna’s lips and she dramatically clapped her hands together. Oh, this was good. This was so, _so_ good. If there was anything she loved more than Sophie, it was meddling in Sophie’s love life. She gripped her friend’s hand and began, “Ok, you _have_ to go back! Maybe I can help you stake out his work schedule or something! We’ll figure out when he’s working, you’ll go in, chit chat, look cute, and BAM! First date!!” 

The color suddenly drained from Sophie’s face as she squeaked, “That might not be necessary...” 

Anna scoffed and immediately went into barrister mode, “Oh come on, it’s not that complicated. Just give me a few days tops and I’ll...” Her voice trailed off as she slowly followed her friend’s line of sight. She discreetly turned her head and caught sight of a single man wearing a crisp black suit. He was leaning against the counter speaking to the hostess as he leisurely adjusted the stiff white cuffs peaking out from underneath the sleeve of his suit jacket. Both women quietly watched as he set his elbow on the counter and casually leaned his neck into his palm. A plain black tie drew Sophie’s eyes from his neck down to his torso, and she noticed how despite his seemingly thin statue, his jacket stretched deliciously over his shoulders. 

Anna whipped her head around to her friend and whispered, “Do you know him?! Oh my God, is that him? He doesn’t look like an artist to me!” Sophie slowly nodded. She wasn’t sure whether seeing Richard here was good luck or bad luck quite yet. Thank goodness Anna insisted on dressing up for “girls night out”. She now regretted putting up such a fuss when Anna wrangled her into the black velvet off shoulder dress. 

As if feeling the pull of Sophie’s thoughts, Richard suddenly turned his head in the direction of the girls. A dazzling white smile spread across his face as he gracefully pushed himself away from the counter and walked towards the women. 

“Hello, Sophie.” 

She began to return the greeting, but the words stuck on their way out causing her to cough instead. Remembering how she wanted to bang her head against the marker stand earlier, she thought that the wooden table looked like a pretty good second option right about now. Anna smoothly jumped in and introduced herself to Richard before asking him to join them for dessert. 

He nodded before graciously sliding into the empty seat next to Sophie. She could feel her stomach twist in excitement as she moved to share her menu with Richard. Closing the space between the pair, he leaned against her bare shoulder to peer at the weathered paper. A minute passed when Sophie finally found her voice as she suggested the flourless chocolate cake.

“But it’s so decadent! Maybe we should get something lighter like the angel food cake?” Anna replied. Sophie began to feel more like herself as she got over the initial shock of seeing Richard. Rolling her eyes, she replied, “Then what’s the point of even eating dessert? If I’m going to be bad, then I want to be _really_ bad.” Richard silently quirked an eyebrow at Sophie. She caught his inquisitive gaze and laughed.

“Look, I have this theory in life, okay? If you’re going to do something, do it all the way. So, if I’m going to be naughty, then I’m going to be as bad as I can and enjoy every damn minute of it. If you want to be good, then don’t even bother dabbling in the art of dessert eating!” 

Sophie definitely used the word “naughty” on purpose, and even Anna was impressed with her friend’s forwardness. Richard returned the laugh.

“Now that’s a sentiment I can agree with, but for the sake of making a good impression and not taking sides, how about we order one slice of each?” 

Both women eagerly agreed, and the trio casually slid into comfortable conversation. While simple, their chat was still pleasant. The group talked about Anna’s final ( _okay, but what are the odds that the letter ‘c’ was the correct answer six times in a row?)_ , and then seamlessly transitioned into discussing Sophie’s recent art exhibition ( _no, of course I didn’t tell my parents about it. They’d freak out and not understand that it’s just for fun!)_. Although Anna was happy to chirp away, Sophie distinctly noticed that not once did Richard disclose any information about himself whatsoever. 

The restaurant chatter began to die down as it crept later and later into the night. They could sense it was closing time, and almost as if on cue, the waitress appeared with their check. Before she could even set it down on the table though, Richard quickly fished out his credit card and neatly handed it to the woman. Sophie began to protest. Richard hadn’t even joined them for the whole meal, and she barely saw him touch any of the dessert. She couldn’t let him pay for a meal he basically didn’t participate in.

He simply stated with a wink, “It’s nothing. Please let me have this opportunity to be a gentleman.” It was too late anyways - the waitress had already left with the bill, so all Anna and Sophie could do was give their heartfelt gratitude. He casually waved off their thanks, and excused himself to use the restroom. As soon as Richard was out of eyesight, Anna leaned forward with a mischievous glint in her eye. 

“Ok, seriously Soph. You and art store guy needs to happen. This needs to have happened yesterday!” 

“I don’t know...he’s still just as interesting as this afternoon, but something isn’t sitting right with me.” 

“What isn’t right about a handsome man in a suit paying for your meals?” 

“That’s kind of the point, Anna. Why would someone so impeccably dressed and apparently wealthy be interested in a student studying art history? Also, what’s up with the his alter ego working in an art supply store in the afternoons? Don’t even get me started on the fact that we’ve been here with him for almost an hour and he hasn’t talked about himself once. I don’t even know how old he is!” 

Anna rolled her eyes. This was so like Sophie - she was always over analyzing and being so damn responsible. Anna was going to put a stop to this tonight. 

“Well, you won’t find any answers by just sitting on the sidelines! Oh, here he comes! I have a plan!” 

Sophie felt her chest constrict in panic right as Anna winked and fished out her phone while feigning concern. Richard immediately picked up on the sudden shift in mood as he returned to his seat. 

“Is everything okay ladies?” 

Anna let out a faux whimper as she exclaimed, “A pipe burst inside my apartment, and I have to get back as soon as possible...Soph, I know I said that I could give you a lift home but it’s an emergency...” Her long lashes fluttered in insincere apology. Sophie felt her knuckles whiten as she gripped the edge of her seat in embarrassment. There was no coming back now - either Richard was going to think she was the world’s biggest loser or she was going to go home a very happy woman. 

If he felt any tension at all, Richard simply ignored it. Another one of his brilliant smiles appeared. “That certainly sounds like an emergency! I’d be more than happy to escort Sophie home.”

Anna clapped her hands together in joy. “Then it’s settled! Thank you so much, Richard. You’re truly a lifesaver.” She quickly gathered her things, gave both of her dining partners a quick peck on the cheek, and flew out the door before Sophie could even register what was happening. She only realized Anna had abandoned her when Richard’s chuckle grabbed her attention. 

He continued smiling as he offered her his arm with a simple, “shall we?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I may or may not have overdone the butter while listening to a friend spill some news during dinner before.


	11. Gardenias

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sophie receives two surprises - one from Sherlock, and one from Jim.

At this point, the moon had already risen to take the place of a setting sun. Sherlock’s gaze remained unwavering as he considered the woman in front of him. The skin underneath her eyes had begun to take on a chocolate hue, suggesting that recent events were affecting her more than she let on. The clock ticked by while both adults decidedly sat in quiet twilight as neither made an attempt to turn a light on.

It was Sophie who first broke the lull. She silently stood and gracefully swept up their empty dishes before turning to deposit them into the sink. Upon returning, she noticed that although the detective opted to remain in darkness, he had now moved to stand by the window. The backlit man somberly stared into the abyss of night as he slowly digested Sophie’s story. The only word that continued to echo in his head was “why”. Aside from the fact that he largely assumed Moriarty to be asexual, why would he choose to spend so much time on a pedestrian like Sophie? Sure, she was charming and kind, but those did not seem to be qualities Moriarty would prioritize. If he were to pursue a romantic relationship, wouldn’t he benefit more from someone affluent, or at least politically connected. Why a simple illustrator from London? 

If it was a short-lived fling, perhaps he could make the argument that Moriarty was pursuing to fulfill some sort of carnal need. Yet, it wouldn’t make sense to keep Sophie around for five years. Didn’t she also mention something about marriage? What was his endgame? 

He suddenly jolted as Sophie’s soft hand gently rested on his shoulder. “Sherlock,” she whispered. He turned to face her, harsh shadows cast against his face as light from the moon and exterior streetlamp danced across his features. “As much as I’d like to keep talking about my ex, I think we should get some rest. Do you think it would be safe for me to stop by my apartment? I don’t have any clothes with me...”

Their eyes met in a steady gaze until Sherlock gave a slow nod and moved to grab his coat. While Sophie appreciated the company, she had a slight suspicion that Sherlock was only coming because he was nosy and curious about her living situation. Either way, she wasn’t about to complain about an extra presence to give her peace of mind. A few moments later, and the pair were entering the apartment Anna and Sophie shared.

They split off as Anna made her way into her bedroom. In the meantime, Sherlock decided to do what he did best - slyly snoop and invade the personal space of others. He quietly stalked around the residence taking note of how the women lived. A burst of color caught his eye in the corner of the living room, and he made his way over to Sophie’s informal studio space.

A single wooden easel sat next to a small individual desk. Tubes of paint in varying levels of use were haphazardly piled in groups depending on medium and color family. Brushes were either strewn about the table, or gathered together in cups. Sherlock took note of various books neatly stacked together. He assumed that the pristine copies were finished editions of Sophie’s work, while the unbounded copies were drafts in work. 

_The Lazy Duck’s Day_

_Hattie the Hog Makes a Friend_

_The Moon And I_

A small smile tugged on Sherlock’s lips as he read the titles resting on the desk. If things weren’t so serious, he’d almost find amusement in the idea that a cold-blooded murderer could date someone who worked in an innocent and pure field such as children’s literature. He continued to peruse the artwork in front of him when a sudden whiff of fresh gardenias passed through his senses. The scent was too faint to be artificial, but too strong to be lingering from days past. They were fresh. 

He began to scan the small apartment for the offending flowers. Finally, a single clear vase jumped into his field of vision. Filled to the brim with gardenias, they were cut to perfection and very, very, fresh. 

Sophie finally emerged from her room with a bag in hand. Just as she made her way over to Sherlock, he handed her a crisp cream colored envelope. “What’s this?” She asked. He simply shrugged and indicated her name elegantly scrawled on the front. The same slanted letters from the back of _The Nightmare_ now read “Sophie Carter”. Sensing her confusion and apprehension, Sherlock calmly motioned to the flowers. “Perhaps, we should open the letter back at 221B,” he stated. Sophie just simply nodded, cast one last glance at the flowers, and made her way out the door with Sherlock shortly on her heels. 

\--

Back at the apartment, Sophie wordlessly thumbed the edges of the envelope. Lost in the tactile feeling of each ridge and the pressed texture, she couldn’t bring herself to open the pocket of paper. For once, Sherlock was having a hard time reading the woman. She didn’t seem fearful, nor did she seem sorrowful. Rather, he felt an air of tiredness. He cautiously ventured to ask her, “Do you like gardenias?” 

“What?” She lifted her head up to meet his eyes. 

“Gardenias. The flowers in your apartment. They were gardenias.” 

“Oh. No, not particularly. He’d never given me that flower before.” 

“They can allude to a secret love, and some like to symbolize them with purity.”

With Sherlock’s last sentence, Sophie threw a pillow against the wall in anger. She immediately jumped up and began to cast various objects into the air. Sherlock calmly sidestepped each whizzing object until he was face-to-face with the enraged woman. Firmly gripping her wrist in one hand, he pulled a metronome from her. 

“I’d prefer if my houseguests didn’t go around breaking my things.” 

He released her arm and peered at her from over his nose. She slumped down onto the floor and began to sob.

“He’s just mocking me at this point, Sherlock. Everything to him is just a game, isn’t it? He might as well had just been an imaginary boyfriend. I...”

Sophie began to hiccup. She couldn’t believe how debasing it felt for her to be huddled on the floor crying in front of Sherlock. The more embarrassed she became, the more she cried. And the more the tears fell, the more humiliated she felt. The vicious cycle continued until a sudden warmth embraced her shaking body. Sherlock had sunk to the floor beside the hysterical woman and gently pulled her into his chest. The tender moment caught her off guard for a split second before she buried her head into his shoulder.

The two sat like so. Sherlock carefully stroking the sobbing woman’s head while she nuzzled deeper into his throat. She had spent so long trying to keep it together - to deny the treachery and aguish she felt. Something about Sherlock allowed her to finally _feel_ the extent of her pain. As if he gave her permission to indulge in her sorrow, silently letting her know that her feelings were valid. 

“Although I’m not one to contemplate the _fairness_ that is life, I do feel empathetic to you pain.”

He continued to brush her hair through his fingers until he felt her breath steady. Long fingers caressed the side of her face as her lashes grew heavy and fluttered closed. A few more stuttered breaths escaped her pale lips until she finally succumbed to fatigue and fell asleep in the detective’s arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock is such a secret softy, isn't he?


	12. Aquatinted With The Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sophie and Sherlock explore their next clue, and get closer to drawing Moriarty out.

Sophie awoke to the feeling of her body sinking into soft cushions underneath. Somehow between the crying and cuddling, Sherlock had moved the weeping woman to his sofa. Now that the tears had ceased to fall, she noted that Sherlock kept a respectable distance between the two. Rubbing away the salt collecting underneath her eyes, she sighed. Normally, she would consider herself a rather rational individual. She certainly was not as logic driven as Sherlock, but she wasn’t prone to sudden emotional outbursts. Every thought was controlled, and every action calculated. Yet, she could feel herself unraveling as Jim continued to back her into a corner. She instinctively wound strands of her jet black hair between her fingers and gave it a sharp tug every once in a while. The pain reminded her that she was alive.

How was it that three years after the end of their relationship, Moriarty’s hands still had a hold on her life? How could he be so cruel as to casually disappear and then reappear into her life? As if going through the despair of leaving him upon finding out his true occupation wasn’t enough, she had the added pain of grieving his apparent suicide. Sophie felt a thought so dark that it surprised her - perhaps Moriarty would have been better off dead. 

Sherlock moved to awkwardly rest his hand on the woman’s back. Although they had just spent the last twenty minutes in each others arms - that was out of pure instinct. Something inexplicable had compelled him to comfort the woman. But now that the moment had passed, he found himself confused by his own actions and unsure of how to proceed. She finally looked up at the detective, and he made note of how wisps of her hair fell to frame her wide eyes. Even in moments of distress - she was beautiful. 

“Maybe we should get to bed, and deal with this tomorrow...” Sophie’s voice trailed off. 

He nodded in response, and moved to help her up. Sophie merely waved him off and replied, “No, no. You go and take care of yourself. I’ll be fine.” She watched as he nodded a second time, and made his way to the bathroom. Despite her stress levels, Sophie couldn’t help but smile to herself. Maybe living with the detective had its own perks.

\--

Sophie Carter sat opposite to Sherlock as the offending envelope laid untouched between the two. Having just finished their morning routines, the pair were finally ready to tackle the next “gift” from Moriarty. Fresh from her shower, Sophie gently twisted her hair into a bun at her nape. Completely engrossed in the task, she didn’t notice Sherlock’s keen gaze. He watched as each fallen drop of water landed on her neck and slowly slid down to disappear underneath her shirt. 

Unconsciously clearing his throat, he reached out to grab the envelope. Sophie signaled for him to go ahead and open it as she continued to pull at her hair. A swift flick of his wrist, and soon Sherlock was pulling out a folded card and two paper tickets. Feeling uncomfortable with reading her mail, he handed the card off to Sophie while looking over the tickets. 

She smoothed her fingertips over the front of the card. It was weighty with a handsome design. If there was something she couldn’t fault Moriarty for - it would be style. An outlined image of a steed rearing on its hind legs was embossed in black at the center. Flipping the front open, she read aloud, “I love you like the moon. Every night it’s there for you. It’s constant. Every single night I look outside, it’s right there for me. People can consume my love in the wrong way, so I send it up at night.”

Sophie folded the card in half and tossed it towards Sherlock in frustration. She knew what the words meant, but she didn’t know what they _meant_. They were lyrics from a song Richard used to put on whenever they spent time together in his study. If it were any other man, perhaps Sophie could be wistful for times now passed. Times when Richard (excuse me, _Jim_ ) would go over paperwork at his mahogany desk while Sophie curled nearby on a plush armchair engrossed in her latest novel. She had lived for those small moments when they would catch each others’ eyes. When she could feel his gaze flicker up towards her as he took little breaks to rest his eyes. 

The whole situation just irritated her though. He was clearly making some sort of effort to contact her, and yet he hadn’t actually _said_ anything to her. She scoffed. Wasn’t Jim Moriarty supposed to be some sort of suave criminal mastermind? Yet, he was sending her secret codes through poems and songs like a pre-pubescent boy. This wasn’t romance. This was the idea of romance that perhaps...a child would hold. Even if he were to directly talk to her, what would he say? What did he even want?

How could someone even begin to repair a relationship that was steeped in so much deceit. Sophie sighed. Perhaps she was getting ahead of herself. Who knew what Moriarty wanted with her anyways. He could just be bored and trying to kill two birds with one stone. Why not irritate his ex-girlfriend and arch nemesis at the same time? 

Sherlock could feel her frustration mounting, and decided to cut the mental anguish short. Sliding over the two tickets he asked, “What do you know about Howard Hodgkin?” Sophie looked down to see tickets for an exhibition hosted at one of her favorite galleries. She furrowed her brows while raking her mind. “Oh,” Sophie exclaimed, “He’s an artist from the 50’s! He’s famous for expressive and geometric prints. He utilizes hand-painted carborundum printmaking and aquatint etchings.” 

“Well, it looks like the tickets are for the grand opening tomorrow night.” 

Sophie fought back another wave of nostalgia. Richard used to take her on date nights to different galleries. She shook her head in an attempt to physically remind herself that those days were gone. They might as well have been dreams. Looking up at Sherlock with a smirk, she simply responded, “Well, I guess it’s a date, Mr. Holmes.”

\--

The next night, Sophie and Sherlock stood side by side in front of the gallery. It sat on the corner of the street - front doors flanked by two red brick walls. Just inside, light brilliantly reflected off of the interior white walls and light birch floors. She could already see peeks of the prints hanging in neat rows. Soft music bleed out onto the street as various well-dressed and well-heeled individuals came and went. 

Taking a deep breath, Sophie absentmindedly smoothed out the wrinkles in her wool dress. Smart, yet somewhat sensual, the heather grey wool clung to her hips like a second skin. A low boatneck teased her clavicle, while long sleeves covered her slender arms. A thin black belt drew her waist in, and the skirt featured a thin slit ending right at the knees. Sherlock, himself, was clad in all black. His midnight colored shirt characteristically unbuttoned at the collar as if to say, “Sure, I’ll wear a suit. But I’m above being fussy for an event such as _this_ ”. His signature greatcoat fit snugly around his shoulders and fell just below his knees. 

As if sensing her hesitation, Sherlock placed his hand along the small of Sophie’s back. Gently urging the woman forward, he nodded as if to give her silent reassurance. She quietly placed her hand in the crook of his elbow, and the two made their way over to security. 

The burly man squinted at the pair and asked, “Names?” 

“Sophie Carter and Sherlock Holmes, sir.” 

He scanned the list and nodded. “I see a Sophie Carter and a plus one. I’ll put down Mr. Holmes then. Welcome.” Moving aside, he gestured for the two to enter. 

Still holding onto Sherlock, Sophie leaned in to whisper, “I thought Jim was watching us. Why would he put a plus one, instead of your name?” Sherlock paused for a second, and considered all of the events that had transpired over the past few days. Quickly coming to a conclusion, he responded, “He’s testing you. Judging by how vague Moriarty has been, he’s trying to figure you out. Figure _us_ out.” 

Sophie scoffed, “What is there to figure out? Doesn’t he have spies or something?” 

Sherlock shrugged his shoulders. “This is personal for him. Plus, he’s been hiding for the past three years. Maybe he doesn’t have the same resources as before. Regardless, he’s curious about the nature of our relationship.” 

She rolled her eyes and picked up a copy of the exhibition catalogue. They meandered through the room, taking in the prints in front of them. Some exploded with color, while others were somber in blacks and grey. The two continued to move in tangent, pausing once in a while to discuss a piece of art. There was a healthy crowd inside of the tiny gallery, and Sophie felt her shoulder rubbing against Sherlock’s arm. They reached the back of the room, and settled to rest their feet while sipping on some white wine. 

Sophie looked up at her partner. He stoically stood in silence next to her while gazing around the room. Knowing Sherlock, he was probably assessing _something_. She resolved to pass the time by thumbing through the catalogue. Still somewhat unfamiliar with the work of Hodgkin, she wanted to learn more. A title suddenly caught her eye, and she reached out to tug on Sherlock’s arm. 

“Look! The exhibition is called _Aquatinted With the Night_! Oh my God, Sherlock! The words on the back of the painting. It’s a Robert Frost poem!” 

Sherlock plucked the booklet out of her hands and quickly flipped through. He paused upon the last page, and frowned.

“Moriarty. He’s upset. I can’t tell if it’s from sadness or anger though.” 

Sophie cocked her head to the side and quizzically looked at the man. She asked, “How can we find out?” 

Sherlock returned her look and responded, “We can draw him out.” 

Just as she was about to ask him how, Sherlock slowly leaned forward. Time stopped as he gradually closed the distance between them. Keeping his eye contact steady, he slowly plucked her wineglass and set it on the table behind them. With their hands free, he leisurely snaked one around her lithe waist. Intuitively, she reached forward to brush her palms flat against his broad chest. Almost hypersensitive, she could have sworn that she could feel each fiber in his shirt, and how they pulled over the expanse of his frame. 

“What...what are you doing?” She breathed. 

His head was now tilted, merely inches away from her lips. His eyes cast downwards towards her soft features. He merely murmured, “Drawing Moriarty out.” 

A second paused. A heartbeat skipped. And then his lips were descending upon her own. Electricity ran through her body as Sherlock slowly ran his tongue over the bottom of her lip. His grip on her body tightened slightly as she returned the kiss. Just as she parted her lips, he broke their kiss while his hands remained firmly on her hips. 

Sophie blinked and shyly looked around the room. The kiss was so magnetic that she could’ve sworn that they had been tonguing each other for the past hour. Judging by how nobody paid them any attention though, she guessed that they simply looked like two lovestruck lovers sharing a quick moment of affection. 

Sherlock smiled and cupped her chin with his hand. Leaning forward again, he brushed the side of her ear with his lips and whispered, “I’m just a virgin, right?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried to speed things up, because I just realized that twelve chapters in and only three days have passed. Whoops! And, thank you to everyone who has stayed and read my story. It really makes my day!


	13. Eating Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sophie and Sherlock try and figure Moriarty out as they get closer to each other.

Somehow between visiting the gallery and the kiss, Sherlock and Sophie ended up at a diner half past midnight. A black cup of coffee sat between his hands as Sophie watched a pat of butter melt while she pushed it over her pancakes. Surprisingly, things weren’t awkward between the two. Sophie cut off a corner with the side of her fork and then pierced the center. Holding it up towards Sherlock she teased, “A bite for my lover?” 

He grimaced at her teasing, but still leaned over the table. Biting the fork, he allowed the tip of the prongs to rest between his lips for a moment as he stared directly into her eyes. Blood rushed to her cheeks, and she quickly pulled the fork away. Smirking at her discomfort, Sherlock made a point to slowly lick syrup away from his lips with a wink.

“So, what are we doing here Sherlock? You don’t seem to be the type for midnight snacks.”

Sherlock gestured to his cup of coffee and replied, “I’m not.” 

The two sat in silence for a while before Sophie realized that Sherlock would not elaborate unless prompted. The man really did need to work on his social skills. She gestured for him to explain further. 

“Moriarty has been rather passive since his apparent suicide. Yet, he makes himself known the moment your best friend attempts to introduce you to two single men. One of which is his ‘mortal enemy’ no less.”

Sophie took in his words as she drizzled more syrup over her pancakes. Placing one elbow on the table, she leaned her head into her palm as she lazily forked more food into her mouth. She didn’t feel the need to put on airs for Sherlock. If she wanted to eat with her elbows on the table...well, she was going to do just that. Besides, something about Sherlock gave her the impression that he wasn’t one to be bothered by table manners. 

“That doesn’t explain why I’m eating pancakes at midnight though.” 

Sherlock let a lengthy sigh escape his lips. He looked at her in boredom and continued, “For some reason, he’s obviously still invested in what happens in your personal life. The day after your friend introduces you to myself and John, Moriarty makes his presence known. He places a painting wrought with personal hints for me - the potential suitor - to find. And then you seemingly move in with me, and he leaves the flowers and tickets. He delivers you another reminder of his existence every time you take a step closer to me.” 

Sophie rolled her eyes - a habit she seemed to be doing a lot more lately in the presence of the detective. Although her lips were gently resting on her straw, she still mumbled over them, “Shouldn’t it be obvious to him that we’re not dating? It’s not like you asked me out or anything. I only moved in because he had reappeared.” 

“This isn’t a _movie_ , Sophie. Sure he has resources and whatnot, but it’s not like he’s going to go bugging all of London, or start stalking you, just to find out whether or not you were asked out. This is _personal_ , remember? So he’s acting out. In his eyes, every step closer to me, is a step further away from him. For all he knows, I whisked you off your feet and you fell head over heels!” 

At the last statement, Sophie began to choke on her orange juice. Halfway between a laugh and a snort, she practically rolled over as her coughs turned into laughter. Sherlock threw her an offended look. Sure, he wasn’t exactly Ewan McGregor or whatever, but she didn’t have to be so forthright with her amusement. 

Still laughing a little she immediately reached over to grip his hand resting on the table. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to laugh. It’s just..come on. You have to find some sort of humor in the situation. We’re not living in some sort of romance novel! I think you’re both a bit melodramatic.” 

Sherlock slowly laced his fingers between hers before he replied, “Sophie, the two of us had a final showdown on top of a roof. I’m also sure that you’ve seen photos of Moriarty after he stole the Crown Jewels. He made up an alter ego just to coerce me into killing myself. And I, in return, feigned death for how long to just play his game? I think the word ‘melodrama’ is putting it too lightly.” 

“I guess that’s true, but you still haven’t explained why we’re at this diner.” 

“Moriarty needs to believe that we’re involved. The more serious we seem, the more desperate he’ll become. Eventually, he’ll have no other choice but to physically show himself.” 

“So the diner...”

Sherlock threw his head back and groaned. As if stating the most obvious fact, he snarked, “Don’t men take women out to eat on dates?” 

Sophie began chuckling again as she slowly shook her head. Pushing her cup of juice aside, she silently went back to moving food around on her plate. 

“What?” Sherlock plainly asked. He could tell something was amusing Sophie, and the fact that she didn’t share what was on her mind lead Sherlock to believe the amusement was directed at him. 

“Well, let’s just say that I’m not surprised that the man who thinks chips is a full meal would take a woman to a diner, at midnight nonetheless, for a first date.”

Sherlock flinched at her teasing. Sensing his displeasure, she immediately began to rub her thumb along the inside of his palm. Smiling, she continued, “Don’t get me wrong. This would definitely be my kind of date. I just find it...endearing. That’s all. You’re quite...adorable.” Color rose to her cheeks again and she eyed Sherlock. He wasn’t sure what to take of Sophie, or of their predicament. The line between creating a faux relationship and actually developing feelings was beginning to blur. Regardless, he’d rather she think he was “adorable” than cheap.

Sophie, herself, wondered where Sherlock would take a woman on a “real” date. Did the man even date? He could be so awkward one moment, and then suave the next. The man who gave her that electric kiss at the gallery definitely didn’t seem the type to get flustered at where to bring a woman on a date. As if her could read her mind, Sherlock candidly responded, “Yes, I have dated. No, I don’t often. I might be considered a sociopath, but I’m still a man.”

“Well, if we’re going to be deceitful, then we might as well go to hell,” Sophie quipped. The woman stood and moved to share Sherlock’s side of the booth. Sidling up to the man, she smoothly wove her arm around his and softly ran her nose up the length of his arm until her face rested at his neck. The detective looked down at the woman now cuddled up next to him, and felt as she lifted one leg to drape over his lap. He cautiously lifted his palm, and rest it flush against the skin of her thigh exposed by her skirt riding upwards. 

Now so close that her breaths were fanning his neck, she gently brushed his throat with her lips as she hummed, “Is this how your dates normally go?” 

Sherlock let out a natural and full laugh at this point. “No, I can’t say that they do. Normally it ends with me insulting the woman, and her disappearing by the end of the night.”

\--

Sophie Carter peered at the detective over the rim of her warm mug. Another day had passed without excitement, and she now found herself back at 221B. Nursing a cooling cup of coffee, she drew her legs up to her chest as she sat on Sherlock’s seat. He was pacing the room holding his violin upright in one hand, while the other absentmindedly plucked at the strings. Sophie could feel the buzz of energy in the room pushing and pulling like a rubber band about to snap. After the previous night’s events, Sherlock’s plan of action was to simply wait. He was sure that in due time, Moriarty wouldn’t be able to help himself and would have to say something. Anything. 

So here they were. Confined in the little apartment while Sherlock bounced on his heels and Sophie watched. “Sherlock,” she moaned, “You’re going to make me dizzy if you keep pacing like that.” Finally having enough of his pent up energy, she leapt up and threw a coat towards him. Shrugging on her own peacoat, she grabbed his hand and pulled him out the door. 

The pair set off at a brisk pace with Sophie leading the way. Every once in a while, she’d give Sherlock’s arm a quick tug or push to indicate that they were making a turn. Several blocks passed and soon they found themselves in front of a quaint little restaurant. Mint green awnings spanned across the top, as gold foiled letters glittered above. A jukebox boomed in the corner as the sound of metal chairs scraping the floor echoed over the music. 

Clapping her hands in delight, Sophie pointed at an empty booth in the corner. Seating themselves, the duo were handed menus from a passing waitress. Sherlock sneaked a peek at the woman, and hid his wide grin behind the menu. He found her unbridled enthusiasm to be refreshing, and a welcome addition in his normally severe life. 

“So,” he ventured. “Fish and chips?” 

Sophie nodded without taking her eyes off the laminated paper in front of her. She waved over the waitress and responded, “Well, we’ve already established that you like chips. So why not add a protein? Besides, wouldn’t my _boyfriend_ take me one a date somewhere cute like a mom and pop restaurant?” 

Sherlock laughed and shrugged. “Do you normally move this fast with men? I thought we just went on our first date last night, and now I’m your boyfriend.”

Sophie responded with a laugh of her own. She held up a finger to him, and turned to the waitress who had now appeared before the pair. Quickly scanning the menu one last time, she settled on ordering the fried haddock with chips, a roll with butter, beans, and a gherkin. Oh, and a Coke as well! She placed her menu flat on the table and asked, “What would the _boyfriend_ like?” 

He raised an eyebrow and threw her an amused look before settling on the fried cod with chips. Handing the menus back to waitress, he grinned at Sophie and said, “I’m sure the girlfriend won’t mind sharing her sides.” The waitress gushed that the two were _“such a cute couple”_ before turning on her heel with the promise of bringing them waters. 

Sherlock reached over the table to hold Sophie’s hand. She turned her palm upwards, and allowed him to stroke the inside of her hand. Sherlock seemed to have a penchant for holding hands, and she was beginning to wonder whether or not it was still just for the case. She would be willing to bet that a secret cuddle hog like himself would also enjoy hand holding if given the chance. 

The pair sat in comfortable silence as a quiet peace overtook their table. Every once in a while, Sherlock would flip her hand up or down as he played with her fingers. He could feel himself growing sentimental for the woman, but as much as he wished could sit and play pretend with her, he needed to learn more about Moriarty. He would have to break their veil of happiness to get on with his investigation. 

Slowly pulling his hand away, Sherlock contemplated how to broach the conversation with her. Although she was generally mild-tempered, her facade seemed to break whenever Moriarty was brought up. He fiddled with the edge of his napkin, before resolving to just be direct. He was never the type to feel embarrassment when questioning people for cases. Why was he getting tongue tied now? 

Taking one last breath, he ventured, “You last left off at the restaurant with Moriarty. What happened afterwards?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realized that the pair basically spent the entire chapter eating, haha. But I figured that going out to eat a lot was a "natural" way for two people to seem like they just started dating. Also, I may or may not just have been hungry myself and craving breakfast food.
> 
> A big thank you to those leaving kudos on my modest story. It really, really, really makes my day!


	14. Fixation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We find out why Jim Moriarty took an interest in Sophie. In present day, Sophie gets ready for some shenanigans with Anna and Sherlock.

_Eight Years Ago_

The pair hit the pavement in stride with Sophie still clinging onto Richard’s arm. They briefly walked in silence before Richard teasingly asked, “Is your friend Anna usually such a bad liar?” Embarrassment flooded her cheeks as Sophie’s free hand flew up to cover her face. Chortling at her sudden shyness, Richard turned to face her and resumed, “It’s okay. I should actually be thanking her. She gave me an excuse to spend more with you.”

If her face wasn’t painfully red before, it was now on fire. Richard enjoyed how openly Sophie displayed her emotions. It allowed the man to relax around her. There was no pretense or expectations. He was intrigued by the beautiful concoction that was her personality - straight-shooting yet bashful, assertive yet permissive, and wrapped together in a generally delicate demeanor that put others at ease.

The muted melody of night churned around them, only to be broken by the clicks of their heels touching the ground. A black car pulled up alongside the curb and a well-built man stepped out to open the door. Sophie noticed that the stranger gave Richard a curious look, but remained silent nonetheless as he ushered the two into the back of the car. 

Finally settled in, Sophie shared her address with the mysterious man before asking Richard, “I hate to be too straightforward, but how does an art shop attendant have a private driver?” 

Richard knowingly smiled and responded, “It’s possible if said attendant owned the art shop and a few other select businesses.” He slightly twisted his torso so he could face her. Sophie pensively looked out the window in thought, and Richard couldn’t help but be taken at how her features seemed to glow. As they passed each streetlamp, the light flickered across her face almost as if she were waning and waxing in light just as a star would. 

She turned to Richard and lightheartedly replied, “My mother would kill me if she knew I got into the back of a car with a stranger.” A melodic chuckle danced from his lips as he crossed his arms over his chest. 

“Well, then let’s not be strangers.” 

Extending his hand forward in a handshake he progressed, “Hello, I’m Richard Brook. Twenty-four years old, and a small business owner.” Sophie grinned and shook his hand before delivering her own introduction. “I’m Sophie, nineteen, and an art history student.” 

Richard’s hand lingered on Sophie’s for a moment before the pair broke out into laughter at the ridiculousness of the situation. The rest of the trip went by quickly with the pair easing into pleasant conversation. Richard inquired about Sophie’s studies ( _My parents want me to get into the Masters program at Oxford, but I’d rather be a painter_ ), and Sophie asked about Richard’s job ( _I run a few small businesses. Just this or that, whatever suits my fancy_ ).

Their words naturally ceased as they pulled up to Sophie’s apartment. Richard slowly walked her up the steps, and soon lulled at her door. She began to fidget with the neckline of her dress - a nervous habit she was desperately trying to break. Although Richard had been so kind to her, she began to doubt herself. He was a successful, charming, and sophisticated man, while she was just a student still second guessing her major. She definitely was not the poster child of poise or accomplishment. 

Maybe he was just being kind. A bleeding heart sort of fellow who enjoyed taking pity on lost individuals who - her thought suddenly ended as she felt the warm press of Richard’s lips on her cheek. He lingered just a moment too long for it to feel platonic. Dropping her hand from her neck, Sophie’s lashes fluttered up to meet his eyes. 

“If you would allow me to be forward, I would love to see you again. Perhaps I could take you to the new exhibition at the National Gallery?” 

Sophie wordlessly agreed. She could almost feel her heart jump into her throat as she went through the motions of adding her number into his phone. Although she did her best to remain composed, Richard could see her nervousness and excitement. Her unadulterated joy and innocence caused him to falter slightly. If anyone was ever nervous around him - it wasn’t for a good reason. Yet, here was a lamb eagerly waiting to enter his den because she truly enjoyed his company.

Even those who didn’t know of his habits when dealing with _business_ could usually sense an air of aggression and danger around the man. He found that people fell into two classes. People either avoided him due to fear, or drew near to him for personal gain. Yet, this woman somehow fell perfectly in the middle. She was intrigued by him, but still willing to give him space. A woman who was forthright in her intentions and interests, and filled to the brim with transparent joy. A woman who could somehow put the high-strung and unstable man at ease. 

He had always been unpredictable. His emotions running away from him as he lived for the thrill of the unknown. This woman was an enigma to him. It was in her simplicity that enraptured him. Although they were strangers, he knew of one simple truth - she had turned him into a captivated man. Richard Brook was obsessed, and determined to tear her apart so that she was no longer a mystery.

\--

_Present Day_

Sophie watched as Sherlock made two distinct piles of chips on his plate. “Are...” She hesitated for a moment. “Are you _organizing_ your food?” He raised his shoulders and replied, “When you put it that way, it sounds ridiculous. I just simply know what I like.” He picked up a piece from the right side while his other hand continued to shift food around. 

Sophie reached over and drew a single fry from his pile. Chomping on the tip, she grinned, “Yup, these do taste better.” As her hand drew towards his plate again, he began to swat her advances away. Sophie laughed as she continued to swipe food off of Sherlock’s plate. Finally having enough, the man began to return the attacks as he pulled some particularly crisp looking chips from her plate. 

Suddenly, the waitress set a plate of fresh fries down between the pair. Sophie wanted to crawl under the table from embarrassment as the waitress winked and mentioned that the side was on the house since the pair were “ _so darn cute_ ”. Sherlock gave a lopsided grin as he relished in Sophie’s bashfulness.

Gesturing with a lone fry between her fingertips, Sophie asked, “So what now, Mr. Holmes? We can’t just keep pretending to date.”

“That’s exactly what we’ll do.” 

Sophie sputtered, “Excuse me? Do you normally just wing your cases like this? Besides, what if I don’t want to indefinitely faux date you? I would like to find an actual boyfriend at some point.” 

Sherlock leaned back in his seat and tilted his head as he studied the woman in front of him. Feeling that she was about to be insulted, she continued, “I swear, if you say anything rude about-“ 

He cut her off. “Firstly, just because I don’t care to explain my actions doesn’t mean I’m just ‘winging it’. Secondly, we both know that you’re not actively trying to pursue romantic relationships. You remained steadfastly single even three years after the end of your relationship with Moriarty. You were so distraught upon our first meeting, I assumed your breakup was fresh. In fact, Anna was desperate enough to try and introduce you to _John_.” 

He paused for a moment as the idea of Sophie dating Watson left a sour taste in his mouth. It made rational sense why the good doctor would be a great fit with the pleasant illustrator, but he still found the idea awful. Ignoring those fleeting thoughts, he continued, “The point of this whole charade is that it needs to seem natural and believable. So unfortunately, for the time being, you and I are two lovebirds attached at the hip.”

This was the most ridiculous situation she had ever gotten herself into. She could at least argue that she hadn’t intentionally dated a criminal. Even being on a case seemed a poor excuse intentionally mislead everyone in her life. She was twenty-seven. Her friends and family would take any relationship of hers seriously. Especially if it were with someone as notorious as the great Sherlock Holmes. 

But what if Moriarty was at large again. Sure, he had been relatively dormant the last few years, but what if he was just biding his time before reemerging again to wreak havoc. Didn’t she have a responsibility to do whatever she could to ensure the safety of those she loved? She finally huffed, “Fine. But I want to do this properly.” 

Sherlock pulled his face together in confusion. Trying to lighten the now shifted mood, Sophie joked, “After all, what will we tell our kids when they ask us how we met?” Sherlock felt all tension in his shoulders dissipate as a smile returned to his face. 

“You might actually have a point though.” 

Sophie raised her eyebrows in surprise. Having kids with Sherlock would definitely be taking this ruse too far. 

He shook his head. “No, no children. We have to be believable to dupe even Watson and Anna. We don’t know what channels Moriarty is using to watch us, and we can’t risk anyone slipping up.”

“I guess I have a boyfriend now.”

Sherlock nodded and jested, “Lucky you. Now, Miss Carter, where is the best place to publicly display our affection for the world to see?” 

She thought for a second before whipping her phone out. With how tense everything had been lately, perhaps a good time was in order. Sliding her finger across the screen, she pulled up Anna’s contact information. 

_Hi, love! Still alive I hope? -Sophie_

Knowing that Anna was relatively fast at responding, Sophie kept her phone in her hand. The incoming beep almost seemed instantaneous. 

_Thankfully Moriarty isn’t obsessed with me, so yeah, I’m alive! I am stressed for you though. -Anna_

_Speaking of stress, maybe we could relieve some tonight? I think Shiloh’s boyfriend still bounces at Fabric? -Sophie_

_Seriously? You want to go clubbing to relieve stress? Are you sure you’re not me? -Anna_

_Well, I have some big news to tell you anyways, and I think you’ll need to hear it over drinks. -Sophie_

_Okay, okay. You know I don’t need an excuse to go out. I’ll give Shiloh a call. Meet at the entrance at 11? -Anna_

_Done! Love you! -Sophie_

She slipped her phone away and noticed Sherlock gazing at her inquisitively. She drew her lips between her teeth with a devious look. If she wasn’t one to go dancing, then Sherlock was going to be even more miserable at handling nightlife. She didn’t feel bad though. If he was going to rope her into conning everyone into thinking they were dating, then she was going to have fun at it. And nothing seemed more fun in the moment than imagining Sherlock in a crowded space trying to dance. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter is going to be fluff-ish because shit is about to hit the fan. I’ve mapped out more of the story, and it’s going to be fun!


	15. The Lion Stalks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our duo lets loose on a night out - only to sober up quickly when Jim Moriarty makes an appearance.

Even as far as a block away, Sophie could hear pulsating bass permeating the air surrounding an expansive warehouse. The air hissed with excitement as various crowds moved towards whatever adventure the night had planned for them. A pair of giddy girls brushed past Sophie just as she paused to lean down and gently tug at the back of a black stiletto that had begun to slip off her foot. 

“Come here, and make yourself useful,” Sophie groaned towards Sherlock. He leaned his head down and cast his eyes upwards in exasperation. Why anyone would subject themselves to dressing so inconveniently boggled his mind. 

Still struggling with the delicate art of balance and putting her shoe back on, she gave a short hop forward as her legs wavered. In that split second, Sherlock noticed how the draped fabric across her bust threatened to become indecent. Ah, he thought. Perhaps there was a purpose to her clothing - or lack thereof. Pulling back up to her full height, she unconsciously shrugged her rising black dress to a more modest length and shifted the fabric at her neckline around so it laid evenly between the two spaghetti straps holding up her whole ensemble. 

He reached over towards the struggling woman, and casually looped his arm around her waist. His touch was welcomed and she felt herself lean towards him for some extra warmth. The crisp fabric of his black shirt (unbuttoned at the collar as per usual) crinkled against her. He didn’t understand all the hubbub with dressing for going out, so he opted to pair his top with slim black trousers and black brogues. 

Still holding onto each other, they quickly crossed the street towards Sophie’s waiting friends. Shiloh and her boyfriend Tim stood around with Anna and Jack laughing at something the bouncer had said to the group. Upon spotting Sophie, Anna squealed, “You look beautiful!” Just as she was about to throw herself into an embrace, she paused at Sherlock’s arm around Sophie. Now suspiciously eyeing the pair, she threw her palms up in a gesture of confusion. 

Sophie shifted her weight between her heels and nervously looked at her confused friends. She was a terrible liar, and having to actually speak the lie was much more difficult than just thinking about it with Sherlock. Feeling her uneasiness, Sherlock extended his hand towards the group and offered, “Pleased to make your acquaintance, I’m Sherlock...Sophie’s boyfriend.” 

Anna immediately balked, but was interrupted as Shiloh and Tim reciprocated Sherlock’s greeting. Jack, as usual, seemed unfazed by his girlfriend’s dramatic reactions and stepped in with his own introduction. As everyone became acquainted, Anna slyly gripped her friend’s arm and pulled her aside.

“Seriously, Soph? _Sherlock?_ Is this some sort of joke?” 

Sophie unconsciously tugged at the hem of her dress and replied, “I guess you could say it was love at first sight?” 

Anna turned her head to watch Sherlock mingling with her friends. He seemed _normal_ enough. Friendly even. Sophie ignore the feeling of her gut twisting and mustered up enough courage to flash Sherlock a look of faux love. Catching her eye, Sherlock returned the gaze with a cheeky wink of his own. 

“Oh my God, this is really happening,” Anna groaned. It wasn’t that Anna didn’t like Sherlock per se, but the timing seemed terrible. Not to mention the fact that Sherlock was, well, _Sherlock_. Sophie meekly patted her friend on the arm in reassurance and responded, “I really like him, Anna.” 

Understanding that it wasn’t her place to comment further, Anna simply huffed and nodded. She moved to rejoin her boyfriend’s side, but only after she jokingly threw over her shoulder, “Whatever happens with Sherlock, just promise me he’s the last sociopath you date, okay?”

Sherlock appeared next to Sophie again, and casually lifted her hand up in his grip. Lightly brushing his lips against her knuckles, he murmured into her hand, “It seems like you have a type.” Sophie laughed, and nudged him away with her hip. Still holding onto her hand, Sherlock chuckled as he pulled the woman into the club. 

The night went by in a blur for Sophie as the group participated in a drinking game commonly known as “drink as quickly as you can”. Anna set off for her fourth trip to the bar, leaving Sophie alone at the edge of the dance floor. She jumped in surprise as a pair of warm hands slowly snaked around her waist from behind. Turning her head to the left, she felt Sherlock’s curls tickle her cheek. 

Feeling lightheaded, she allowed her body to lean backwards against his chest and Sherlock slowly swayed the woman from side to side. Slowly grazing the surface of exposed neck with his lips, he murmured into her ear, “I think we made a convincing couple, wouldn’t you say?” 

Sophie felt her head lull to rest against Sherlock’s neck as she hummed in relaxed contentment, “It’s not fair! You haven’t even been drinking!” He chuckled behind her as his long fingers danced up and down her sides before he replied, “Alcohol impairs the senses and limits rational thinking. I am still technically working.” Suddenly hit with a wave of courage, Sophie spun around to face the man holding her. Although she imagined that she looked daring and sexy, she really just teetered from one leg to another until she was awkwardly propped against Sherlock’s chest.

He laughed in response, and looked down at the woman who was now running her hands through his hair. She mumbled something, and he leaned down lower to catch what she was saying. Another mumble, and he moved closer. “Sweetheart, you’re going to have to-” 

Suddenly Sophie grabbed the sides of his face and pulled Sherlock into a kiss. His eyes opened wide in surprise as Sophie gently gripped his bottom lip between her teeth. Pulling back, she released him with a quick “pop”. Leaning back she cheered, “Ha! Made you bend down!” She stuck her tongue out and began to shimmy in Sherlock’s arm. 

“Okay, okay Casanova, we get it you have a boyfriend,” Anna laughed as she pulled Sophie away from Sherlock. Sophie started to whine as the space between herself and Sherlock’s arms grew wider. 

Tim and Jack appeared next to Sherlock each clutching beers. Jack shouted with glee, “Oy, Soph! Lend us your boyfriend for a while. We need him to settle a dispute on which one of us is holding our liquor better!” Anna groaned at the immature men, and started to pull Sophie onto the dance floor as the guys made their way back to the bar. 

Bodies ebbed and flowed as the smell of sweat, ethanol, and flesh mixed in the air. Lost in the thumping of a deep bass, Sophie didn’t realize that she had somehow become separated from Anna and Shiloh. Too far inebriated to care, she simply lifted her hands above her head and continued to dance. A sudden warm breath grazed her neck, and familiar hands slid from her hips down her thighs. A lean body pressed up against her as the palms now moved up her body with one hand lightly gripping her neck. Not hard enough to be a choke, but aggressive enough to catch Sophie off guard. 

Sophie was surprised at Sherlock’s sudden boldness as she felt a warm mouth press against the other side of her neck. The lips trailed up her throat and rested against her ear. Something felt wrong, and just as she was about to flinch away, a distinctly Irish voice teased, “Somebody has been a bad girl.” Too scared to move, Sophie lamely stood rooted as the man continued to hold her against his torso. Chucking to himself, he continued, “What’s wrong sweetheart. You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” 

She cautiously turned and was met face-to-face with Jim Moriarty. Although logic dictated that she should be afraid, Sophie couldn’t help but still find Jim inexplicably enticing. Damn her intoxicated state, she thought. “Mmm...” He murmured close to her as he rested his cheek against her pale face. Now tracing circles along her lower back, he continued, “You know, I’m clever enough to not expect you to wait for me. But really, Soph? Sherlock?”

Sophie awkwardly pushed Jim away from her as he continued to laugh. Anger fueled by alcohol, Sophie spat, “What’s your endgame, Jim? What do you want from me?” Jim sniggered and reached to pull Sophie back towards him. 

“You know I don’t like sharing my toys, Soph.”

“Is that what I am to you? A fucking toy? A game? A pawn in your fucked up sport with Sherlock?” 

“Shhh, don’t be like that.” Jim whispered as he reached to play with a strand of her hair. The soft strands fell between his digits like water. Pulling her ear close to his mouth again, he sighed, “You can think whatever you like if it’ll make you feel better.”

Sophie broke their contact with one final shove. 

“Fuck you, Jim. I liked you better when you were Richard.” 

A fire gleaned in his eye as he laughed, “So the lady still has bite.” He moved to leave, but turned with one final sentence. “Tell your _boyfriend_ that Jim Moriarty is ready to play. What’s his catch phrase again? Oh, yes. The game is on.” 

Just as quickly as he had appeared, Jim Moriarty disappeared into the crowd leaving Sophie shaken. No, she wouldn’t allow herself to be the type of woman who cried in the club. Standing eerily still, she dipped her head into own palms as her shoulders began to shake. Just as she was about to reach her breaking point, an affectionate hand lifted her chin up. 

Meeting her eyes with Sherlock’s, Sophie felt a whimper escape her red lips. A serious look clouded his eyes as as Sherlock scanned the room for Moriarty. Realizing that the mysterious Irishman would now be long gone, he swept Sophie into a tight embrace. Despite the heavy music, perspiring crowd, or imminent danger the couple was about to face, they felt sharply alone in the world. Whatever was about to come wouldn’t matter, at least not until the morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Moriarty is about to take the pair on a rollercoaster ride, and I'm excited to explore a "real" case soon! Also, I can totally imagine Sherlock having a hate/love relationship with his time at the club with Sophie while silently judging everyone around him. 
> 
> P.S. Every location in the story is based on a real place I used to hang out in London! I never know how descriptive to be, because I don't know if anybody cares, haha. Just for fun (in case anyone would like see what the places look like), the diner they have their "first date" in is called The Breakfast Club. They have a lot of locations, but the one I frequented was in Spitalfields (near my old flat). The fish and chips place is called Poppie's, and it's got a cool retro 50's vibe to it. 
> 
> Richard's art supply store is called L. Cornelissen & Son in real life. They've been around since 1855! Also, the art director of the National Gallery really is named Gabriele Finaldi. Frame, is also the name of an actual club in London. Tesco is also my favorite grocery store (yes, I have a favorite grocery store! Get out of here Sainsbury's)!
> 
> I think that's all for now. See ya'll next week!


	16. An Unexpected Death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The game is on, and it begins with a death.

It was exactly three days later when Watson received the shock of his life. Slowly ascending the steps to 221B Baker Street, he entered his living quarters to a sight he never thought he’d have the displeasure of seeing. Sherlock sat idly upon his armchair fiddling with the zipper on a jacket. All would have been well in the world of John Watson, if only the zipper didn’t belong to a willowy woman who was perched atop Sherlock’s thighs. Sophie Carter sat facing the man as her calves rested underneath her thighs to straddle the detective. Arms gracefully draped over his shoulders, she rested her forehead against his own . Sherlock continued to struggle against the stubborn metal teeth when Watson interrupted the pair by dropping his bags onto the pine flooring.

Sophie twisted her torso towards the door in surprise as Sherlock wrapped his long arms around her before she could slip off and hit the floor. Relishing in the discomfort of his friends, he maintained unwavering eye contact with Watson as he firmly pulled Sophie against his chest. 

Clearing his throat, John complained, “Don’t mind me. I’m just trying to be comfortable in my own home.”

Sophie immediately pushed herself off of Sherlock, and bounded towards the other man. Two pecks on the cheek and one apology later, Sophie welcomed her friend home. He gave her a weak grin and nodded towards Sherlock in confusion. “Oh, yes. Uhm, Sherlock and I are dating now. Darling?” Sophie awkwardly replied. He slinked up behind the woman and nestled his nose into her dark locks while wrapping his arms tightly around her middle. 

The doctor balked, but quickly recovered to a more neutral expression. Wishing to avoid any uncomfortable questioning, Sophie excused herself with Sherlock shortly behind to walk her out.

Hissing quietly at the door, she accused, “Did you know he was coming home today?” 

Sherlock held a devilish grin on his face as he whispered, “He’d never believe me if I just _told_ him I had a girlfriend. It’s all about believability!” 

\--

Three more weeks passed as everyone on Baker Street settled into a routine. Now that they were sure Moriarty had no intention of physically harming Sophie, she returned to her flat alongside Anna. To continue their facade, Sophie and Sherlock would make time to see each other. Aside from the fact that they _had_ to date in order to agitate a common adversary, everything else about their relationship seemed normal to the outside eye. 

Sherlock even found Sophie’s presence tolerable, and her actions as a girlfriend completely acceptable. She generally kept her space from the man, but even then, he found her spontaneous text messages an amusing and welcome break in the monotony of life (even if he’d never respond). She never complained either when their dates consisted of uncommon activities such as visiting a crime scene, or sourcing fresh body parts for experimentation. Sophie, herself, appreciated that Sherlock was a man of compromise with her and made an effort to participate in more ordinary activities once in a while. 

Sophie continued to ponder whether or Sherlock was even pretending at this point. The way they interacted felt second nature, and she had a suspicion that this was how their relationship would actually be if it were real. She definitely had no complaints, and everything felt just peachy to her. That was, until Greg Lestrade showed up unannounced one evening. 

A man had been found dead.

James Moriarty’s body was discovered at the steps of the the Exchequer just underneath it’s red oak doors. Despite a single gunshot wound to the head, the man was elegantly posed face up, limbs together, and arms crossed over his chest. In his right hand, he clutched a single pearl colored envelope. A familiar black steed and the name “Sophie Carter” graced the cover. If a man had not been found dead, it the scene could almost be considered artful. His crimson blood pooled in a halo brilliantly against the bare alabaster colored brick of the Treasury.

It would have also been more startling, if he had been the Moriarty plaguing Sophie and Sherlock’s lives. Instead, it was a stranger. A man who happened to have the misfortune of sharing the same namesake as the master criminal. Why he was dead or held a letter addressed to Sophie though, was another mystery.

Sophie happened to be around for tea with Watson when the quick clips of Lestrade’s fists making contact with wood echoed in the room. The pair politely paused their conversation to address the Inspector who had now let himself into the room. Sherlock, on the other hand, completely disregarded the man by continuing to play his violin. 

“Sherlock! A man is _dead_!” John reprimanded. Continuing to ignore everyone in the room, the detective stepped side to side in time with the music before replying, “Yes. People tend to do that.” Exasperated with his friend’s lack of empathy, John tried another avenue. 

“Sophie could be in danger.” 

Watson was both pleasantly surprised, and somewhat curious at how Sherlock hesitated. He had been friends with the man for years, and had very rarely seen the detective concerned for the wellbeing of others. Lestrade grinned from ear to ear as the arrogant violinist relented and joined the group. Crossing his legs on his signature seat, Sherlock gestured for the Inspector to continue. 

Greg reached into his short beige jacket, and pulled out Sophie’s letter. 

“We checked, and it’s not laced with anything. You can open it.”

Hands slightly shaking, Sophie felt immense pressure as three pairs of inquisitive eyes fell on her. She silently prayed that this man’s death wasn’t her fault. A shallow breathe left her lips before she lifted the lid of the envelope and pulled out a single card with a single sentence scrawled over textured paper.

_I, too, liked myself better as Richard Brook._

Lestrade waited for Sophie to explain the meaning behind the card while Sherlock became visibly agitated.

“I don’t know what I have to do with your case, Inspector. But these were the last words I spoke to Jim before he disappeared again.” 

Sherlock jumped up, snatched his coat, and aggressively brushed passed everyone. Flying down the stairs two at a time, and yelled out, “Morgue! Now!”

\--

Sophie felt rather out of place as she nervously pressed her back against the wall of the morgue. She never thought that she’d ever have to step foot inside New Scotland Yard; more or less be inside its morgue. Covering her eyes with one palm, she quietly tittered to herself in an attempt to calm her nerves. She didn’t cope well with death. Not since she accidentally...

John sympathetically handed Sophie a warm cup of tea. “It’s not the best, but I find that a warm beverage does wonders for relaxation.” She gave him a look of gratitude, and opened the lid to gently blow on the hot liquid. Sophie smiled at how thoughtful the doctor was as she watched small wisps of steam rise and dance in time with each breath. 

Just as her heart rate returned to normal, Sophie blanched as a young woman named Molly wheeled in the body. Sophie began to feel somewhat incredulous at the entire situation, and tried to ignore the feeling that this entire scenario seemed wholly _unprofessional_ in her eyes. Besides, having a civilian faint during an investigation didn’t seem very efficient either. 

As soon as she heard the sound of a zipper relenting against a sharp tug, Sophie flung herself against the wall once more. Pacing her breath again, she shyly peered over Molly’s shoulder to see what everyone was looking at. In that split second, she decided that she wanted nothing to do with the situation, and opted to sit on the sidelines while everyone else went about their work. Taking labored sips of her tea, she closed her eyes and listened in. 

“Single gunshot wound to the head. Looks self-inflicted.”

“Are you an idiot? He’d have to have arms ten feet long to shoot himself at this angle. Look at the entry and exit points.”

“Sherlock’s right. And you didn’t find a gun, right?”

“We did, there was a Walther P99 in his desk drawer. Registered to himself and matched the bullet.” 

“Oh, I see. So you think the man killed himself, put the gun back in his desk, somehow walked back out to the entrance _with a bullet hole through his head_ , and then Moriarty happened upon the body to leave a note?”

“Well, no. I mean, we don’t know _how_ he ended up there. There wasn’t any security footage.”

Sophie felt a smile tug at her lips as she heard Sherlock’s groaning. Although her eyes were still closed, she could almost imagine the man sarcastically waving his arms in the air out of frustration. 

“The man was placed in position before being shot from above by an unknown assailant. Assuming by the angle of the wound, the killer is a man around six foot two. Left-handed. Now, the mystery is why James had to die. I don’t believe it’s a coincidence. What was this man’s occupation?” 

“He’s a janitor at the Treasury.” 

Swift footsteps approached Sophie, and her eyes fluttered open as Sherlock gripped her forearm in his hands. Tugging the pale woman alongside him, he pulled her towards the exit. She noticed that Molly looked taken aback as Sherlock moved to loop his arm around Sophie’s waist, and made a metal note to ask Sherlock about his relationship with her later. 

“Sherlock, where are you going?” Watson asked as he came up behind the pair. The man shrugged and nonchalantly responded, “Dinner. Watson, do you still have the check from our last job?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Although I'm pretty sure I know how the case will go, I'm not really an expert on crime or anything like that. Basically, I'm asking you to bear with me as I start making some shit up.


	17. Burning Sage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The trio begin their case, and Sherlock gets into trouble with John.

“Sherlock, are you _insane_?” John fumed as the trio awkwardly stood in the foyer of a restaurant that was clearly above everyone’s pay grade. Sherlock ignored his partner and addressed the hostess instead. “Yes, table for three please. Under Mr. Clemens.” The young woman immediately stood straighter as she gathered menus in her hands. “Of course. Welcome back Mr. Clemens. We’ve missed you! Right this way please.” 

They were silently escorted across several rooms varying in color and decor. If “rich” was an aesthetic, that would be the exact word Sophie would use to describe her surroundings. The hostess gestured to the side, and John’s eyes followed to an empty table by the window. Dimpled leather seats gathered around a table covered in far too many glasses and more silverware than what he knew to do with. John was way out of his league here, and he had a suspicion that Sophie was barely treading water alongside him. 

Sophie flipped open the heavy leather bound menu, and gawked at the prices. She’d have to sell a kidney just to pay for this meal. As if sensing her hesitation, Sherlock waved towards her without looking up. 

“Don’t concern yourself with the prices. Regardless, I’ll be ordering for you tonight.” 

“Excuse me?” John and Sophie simultaneously asked. 

Huffing, John continued, “Sherlock, how the hell do you think we’ll be paying for this? Is that why you wanted me to bring the check?”

As if it were the most obvious answer in the world, Sherlock retorted, “Today’s meal in on the house from a certain Mr. Clemens. The check is a contingency plan.” The trio was about to erupt into an argument when their server arrived. Sherlock quickly ordered first before John or Sophie could continue their onslaught of objections. 

“For the lady, Dorset crab in apple and dashi. Followed by the Halibut with cauliflower, grape, and tarragon. For myself, the Mackerel in smoked buttermilk, and then the trout with watercress.” 

Sherlock returned the menu to the waiter, and then nodded towards John. Awkwardly clearing his throat, John ordered asparagus to start, and dry aged duck for his main. Immediately following the departure of their waiter, Sherlock scoffed, “Really, John? The _asparagus_? Along with duck, nonetheless? ” 

“You could have said something! Besides, I wasn’t exactly prepared for fine dining tonight! And you’re one to judge my dining choices. I thought you hated seafood.” 

“I do. But Mr. Clemens doesn’t.” 

It was Sophie’s turn to chime in. “I’m sorry, exactly who is Mr. Clemens? And why am I suddenly Mrs. Clemens? And how on earth do you know that Mr. Clemens likes seafood?”

“Don’t encourage him Sophie. Now he’s just going to show off, and we’ll both lose our appetites.”

Sherlock leaned back in his chair and pressed his fingertips together. “John, you don’t have be threatened by my _superior_ mind. The restaurant keeps personal bottles of liquor for special patrons. Said bottles are on display in the foyer. Mr. Clemens has a noted space, but it’s just off to the side on the bottom - suggesting that he’s important enough to have a designated table, but not important enough to have prominent shelving. Secondly, his bottle is collecting dust, meaning that he doesn’t frequent the restaurant. We now have a lower chance of running into him or having waitstaff recognize his face. Thirdly, while others carry hard liquor or red wines, Mr. Clemens’ bottle is white wine. For him to prioritize white wine means he has a strong affinity towards seafood.” Nodding towards Sophie, he continued, “Having a Mrs. Clemens was just an assumption.”

He smugly puffed out his chest when he noticed Sophie had leaned forward to listen in awe. Her lips were slightly parted in amazement, and Sherlock took a second to appreciate the soft silhouette of her lips and the way they were tinged a natural shade of blush. He turned his attention back to the room just as their first courses arrived, and ignored his companions as they settled into comfortable conversation. Sherlock remained uncharacteristically quiet as he completely ignored the other two at the table. Taking note of the detective’s silence, Sophie gave John a mischievous grin. 

“So, John. I was reading my horoscope this morning, and it seems like the Pisces moon is aligned with Jupiter.” 

“Is that so? I heard that means it’s a time of peace and relaxation.” 

“Maybe we should burn some sage in your apartment? I have a few kilos of it.”

“How generous of you Sophie! We can start in Sherlock’s room and then move towards the living room?”

“Sounds fantastic! We should stuff some of it inside his violin case too. You know, since we’re already...”

“Oh my God, you’re both insufferable.” Sherlock snapped. The mischievous duo sniggered together in glee.

\--

Dinner wrapped up with little fanfare, and Sophie tried her best to not feel _too_ guilty about putting the meal on Mr. Clemens’ tab. By the time they stepped out into the night, London had become a different place. A city that sparkled despite malevolence lurking in dark corners. Sophie threaded her fingers with Sherlock’s and leaned her head against his shoulder as they settled into a cab. She looked upwards towards his face and asked, “Could you at least tell us why we stole a meal from Mr. Clemens? For my poor conscience?” 

“The Roux is a common hotspot for those working within government. It also happens to be conveniently located across from where Mr. Moriarty’s body was found. You’d be surprised how the nature of dining allows individuals to relax. People end up sharing more then they should. We went to observe.” 

“And were we successful?” John asked. 

“Yes. _I_ was successful in finding out that despite his theatrical death, James’ passing hardly fazed anybody. He was a nobody. So much so that an incredibly public death meant nothing - no shock or grief. He was somebody who could go undetected in this world.” 

“That’s so sad,” Sophie replied with a slight frown. To disappear and have nobody miss you seemed terrible in her opinion. John placed a light hand on her shoulder and offered some advice. “I wouldn’t be quick to give your sympathy, especially with our cases. Sometimes things aren’t what they seem.” 

\--

Another week had now passed, and John couldn’t help but feel a twinge of unease settling into the back of his mind. For the past seven days, Sherlock had been agreeable. In fact, John could have even argued that Sherlock was _cordial_. He had been coming and going from the apartment a lot, but otherwise rather quiet. There were no gunshots, no body parts aimlessly scattered in the kitchen, and no sarcastic quips. Even Sophie hadn’t seen much of the detective. It was three in the afternoon when John finally caught up to his best friend.

“Sherlock, have you seen our check?” John inquired. He moved about the apartment lifting miscellaneous books and papers, doing his best to ignore the dust clouds that would appear as he shifted things around. Rent was due, and poor Mrs. Hudson had been patient enough with the two men. As he moved closer to the kitchen, a sudden aggressive scent of bleach hit the blonde man straight in the nose. “What in hell...” 

Sherlock quickly moved to stand in front of a vat of...something. He was mixing something inside of a plastic tub that looked large enough to hold at least five liters. Sitting atop a plastic tarp, John felt his eyes widen at a hefty pile of cash. At least four thousand pound all in five and ten pound note denotations. John began to feel panic in his chest as he came to realization that Sherlock had not only cashed their paycheque, but was repetitively dunking the notes into some sort of bleach concoction. 

The doctor immediately moved towards the cash just as Sherlock stepped forward with his hands out. “Now, now John. There’s a perfectly good explanation! Let’s just stay calm...”

“Stay _calm_? Sherlock, you’re dumping our rent money into... _something_. I don’t know what you’re up to, but some of us like to do ordinary things like _pay our rent on time so we don’t get evicted_.”

“We won’t get evicted.” 

“And why is that?”

“Sophie paid this month’s rent for us.”

John gripped at his short hair in frustration and embarrassment. _The poor woman_ , he thought to himself. Knowing Sherlock, he probably gave her some sort of lie and sob story just so he could selfishly carry on with whatever experiment he was conducting. She didn’t deserve the _responsibility_ that came with dating Sherlock. John wasn’t even sure he would wish Sherlock upon his worst enemy. As if sensing his friend’s judgement, Sherlock sheepishly added, “I promised to pay her back after this case.” 

“Oh my God, that’s not the point Sherlock.” 

“Well, I’m not the one who was just babbling on and on about the rent!” 

“You know what, just finish whatever it is you’re doing.” John wildly gestured around the kitchen as he continued to exclaim, “I have the unfortunate feeling that whatever you’re up to is illegal. So just finish up and I don’t want to hear a word about this _ever_.”

The snap of latex against skin ended the conversation as Sherlock smugly went back to dunking bills into his chemical mixture.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor John. He really must have the patience of a saint.


	18. A Fall's Summer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and Sophie delve into their feelings, and things heat up. 
> 
> Warning: Light NSFW below!

It was dawn when Sophie felt the familiar and unsettling feeling of being watched in her sleep. As if some sort of unseen force tugged at her unconscious state, she slowly stirred to the sounds of morning traffic and pedestrian chatter. Rubbing her eyes with one hand, she cautiously peered over her comforter, only to yelp in surprise. 

“Jesus, Sherlock. I don’t care if you have a fetish for watching girls sleep, but you gotta quit with this habit!” 

“I need to talk to you, and I thought it would be more polite to wait for you to naturally wake.” 

Sophie flipped over onto her stomach and screamed into the downy pillow her head once rested on. Turning onto her back once again, she pulled the covers over her head in a weak attempt to will Sherlock away. Perhaps he’d disappear if she pretended he was no longer in the room. Humming quietly under the covers, her voice hitched as she felt the mattress dip next to her. Carefully lowering a corner of her blanket, she eyed Sherlock as he gingerly pulled the fabric away from her face before venturing to ask her a question.

“What do you know about perverts?” 

Sophie resisted the urge to scream again as she sarcastically quipped, “Other then the fact that I’m dating one?” 

“I’m not a _pervert_. Again, I was politely waiting for you to wake up!”

“You were watching me sleep.” 

“Believe me. You’re not as interesting as you presume yourself to be.” 

Sophie shifted her body upwards and away from her tangled sheets to playfully kick Sherlock out of her bed. Her right foot gently rested against his hip as she braced herself and pushed. Sherlock lightly caught her ankle in his hand and laughed as he moved to pull the woman across the bed. Standing quickly, he dropped to his knees and elbows to cage the chuckling woman underneath his body. He leaned forward and growled, “Since you’re so insistent, I could always indulge in my perversions.” 

Knowing how much Sherlock loved to make others squirm, Sophie refused to back down. She sat up on her elbows and tilted her head to the side. Sherlock watched as her soft hair slipped from her shoulders and down her back. Her soft cotton tank top had been pushed up when Sherlock tugged at her, and now lay gathered just under her bust. His eyes traveled up from her exposed belly, past her braless chest, and rested at her lips. 

Smirking at the detective, Sophie slowly pulled her leg up to rest her knee just inside of Sherlock’s thigh. With a sudden and forceful push, she knocked his leg to the side and rolled herself over as his back fell to the bed. She sat atop his hips with fingers splayed against his firm chest and gloated from above. Sherlock Holmes was finally caught off guard. 

Suddenly, Sophie became acutely aware of the situation she was literally sitting on. Sherlock’s wide hands strongly gripped her hips, and she could feel his thumb pressing just underneath the bone. She still wasn’t sure what they were - if they were anything at all. She had been "dating” Sherlock for well over a month now, and he had never made a move to press her further than the occasional kiss here and there. Then again, its not like she needed an _excuse_ to sleep with anybody (present company included). If she wanted to indulge in her primal needs, why not? Her brain continued to swirl in a current of confusion before Sherlock interrupted her.

“Could you stop that? You’re overthinking again.”

“Well, how could I not? The past few weeks have been confusing.”

“What is there to be confused about?” 

Sophie gestured between herself and the detective. 

“For starters, what’s this?” 

Sherlock shrugged and deadpanned, “We’re in a relationship for a case.” 

A pang of embarrassment and hurt ached in Sophie’s chest. Maybe she had misread Sherlock’s intentions. Perhaps he really could separate himself from emotional attachment, and was only using her as a means to Moriarty. She began to shift her body off the man underneath, when his grip tightened. 

“You’re upset.” 

Pink twinged her cheeks, as Sophie’s embarrassment multiplied. This was not how she imagined to start her morning. In fact, she was beginning to think that having Moriarty burst through her front door would be a better start to her day than having a “what are we” talk with Sherlock. He studied the woman’s face quietly and could almost feel her mind running a thousand miles per minute. He paused when realization hit him.

“You care for me.”

Sophie mutely returned his gaze as she began to roll the hem of his shirt between her fingers. How could she even respond if she didn’t even know what she wanted. Nothing about her time at Baker Street could even remotely be considered normal, and it threw everything off balance in her life. Sherlock’s hand slowly moved to pick up Sophie’s hand. His eyes softened as his voice lowered to a whisper. 

“I care for you too.”

Sophie felt her jaw clench in surprise at Sherlock’s admission of sentiment. His eyes were bright and vulnerable as he waited for her response, but she had no words for him. Instead, she silently moved forward and pressed her lips against his. Gentle, patient, and earnest - Sherlock returned Sophie’s kiss as he ran his hands down her hips to reach around and tightly grip her ass. She moaned into his mouth as he gave her a cheeky squeeze. 

Flipping the woman over onto her back, Sherlock pressed his body against her as he began to tug at her shirt. He groaned into her neck, nipping softly from underneath her ear, down her throat, and across her clavicle. Sherlock pushed her shirt and bra up in one fell swoop and smirked as her chest laid bare before him. His hazy eyes were cast downwards as he drank in the exquisite sight below. He languidly brought his mouth down to her breast, and ran his teeth over the sensitive tip. 

Just as he dipped his hand below the waistband of Sophie’s pajama pants, her bedroom door flew open. Anna stood at the doorway. Mouth agape, she stuttered an apology before slamming the door closed. Now standing behind a closed door, Anna shouted, “We’re supposed to warn each other if we have overnight guests!” Sophie’s groaned out an apology, and threw Sherlock a look that was equal parts exasperated and embarrassed. Dragging her shirt back down, she hurried to the door. 

“Mrs. Hudson rang. There’s a Greg Lestrade looking for Sherlock. He says it’s urgent.” 

The speed in which Sherlock Holmes changed his demeanor would have offended Sophie if she wasn’t so impressed. His face immediately fell into a stoney facade as he swiftly moved to exit the room. Pausing at the door, he held a hand out to Sophie expectantly with a crooked smile. 

\-- 

Now clad in more appropriate clothing, Sophie stood by the fireplace picking lint off of her black sweater. Inspector Lestrade had arrived to drop off a thick manila folder before refusing a cup of tea. While the man politely mentioned “getting back to work”, Sophie suspected that the true intention of his refusal was to avoid being insulted by Sherlock. She admired the back of her boyfriend, and took notice of how his curly hair fell forward as he leaned over his desk. 

Feet spread apart and palms flush flat against the wooden surface, Sherlock silently read over the file. He had remained stoically quiet for the past hour, and Sophie began to wonder what her purpose in being here was. She stretched her arms above before slowly moving her palms down so they rested behind her head. Rolling her head from side to side, she lazily began to stretch her back out. 

“Stop that.” 

Sophie paused just as she began to glide her shoulders forward. She gave the man a quizzical look as he shot her a look of annoyance. 

“Why?” 

In three long strides, he arrived in front of the limber woman. Noses almost touching, Sherlock ran a finger from the top of her spine down to the edge of her waistband. He softly spoke into her ear, “When you stretch, your back arches.” He now had one hand flat against the small of her back, while the other pressed into her stomach. Pulling her torso towards his chest, Sophie’s figure created a gentle bow. Sherlock pressed his forehead against her soft locks and continued, “And when your back arches...”

He slowly pulled a hand from her stomach upwards and cupped her right breast. Breathing out steadily he finished, “...parts of you become pronounced.”

Sophie grinned and teasingly pressed herself deeper into his touch. Sherlock squinted at her for a moment before pushing her away and bounded back towards his desk. Picking up his keys, he tossed Sophie her peacoat. 

“Come on, we’re leaving.” 

Sophie pulled an arm through her coat sleeve while she inquired where. Sherlock paused and glanced at the open file on his workspace.

“Somewhere near Whitechapel. I believe the shop’s name is Naughty Nancy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I've never, ever, ever, written smut before. To be honest, I kind of chickened out last minute before things got too steamy, and I'm not sure whether or not it's something I should continue to pursue. I'm not against it, I'm just a bit shy, haha. I'd love to hear any thoughts on whether or not I should go down this route!


	19. Naughty Nancy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock advances with the case as he advances in other areas as well.

Sophie quirked a single eyebrow at Sherlock, and dryly muttered, “Classy.” They had ventured down a cramped alley and now stood in front of a lingerie store tucked at the end of the street. A neon sign was hanging on to the final threads of life as “Naughty Nancy” flickered above their heads. Every window was blacked out with peeling paint hinting at scandalous sights hidden within. 

For every ounce of discomfort running through Sophie’s veins, Sherlock made up for it in complete and total lack of expression. Without a second of hesitation, Sherlock took her hand into his own and pulled Sophie into the shop. 

“Welcome to Naughty Nancy!” A chirpy blonde sang from behind a rack of thongs. She stepped around her display and eyed Sherlock and Sophie. A playful smile spread over her round face as she pressed her hands together. “Oh, I do love it when a couple comes in together! I’m Nancy. Are you looking for anything in particular?”

Sophie hesitated, but Sherlock quickly pulled her to his side. With one arm looped around the confused woman, he smiled down and replied, “We’re looking for something _fun_ for my girlfriend to wear. A surprise, perhaps?” The blonde squealed and eagerly nodded. “Say no more!” She trilled and grabbed Sophie’s arm to pull her deeper into the store. The moment the two women turned their backs to the detective, his face fell into serious concentration as he began to stalk up and down the aisles looking for something. 

Sophie, on the other hand, was standing by a glass case while awkwardly shifting through various paper thin garments as she tried to take in how every strap, sequin, and feather came together. It wasn’t that she was uncomfortable with the idea of wearing lingerie - she was just simply unprepared. Only a few hours had passed since she had gotten more intimate with Sherlock, and he was already taking her lingerie shopping? She dipped her head to the side and watched as he stalked up and down the dimly lit aisles looking for _something_.

Sophie sighed. Of course they were on a case. Rolling her eyes, she went back to thumbing through some bras. Nancy reappeared and brusquely moved the pile to the side. She put a single set on the table and crooned, “I found the perfect garment for you! Your boyfriend looks like a straightforward type of guy. Something classic with a little bit of flair would definitely get him riled up! Of course, you can always graduate to something more risqué in the future!” Nancy winked and let Sophie feel the fabric between her hands. 

Delicate lace appliqué flowers danced across a red mesh corset, and soft ruffles flared out from a seam cut in a soft arch at the hips. Satin garters fell from underneath the ruffle, ready to be clipped against stockings. Sophie appreciated the beautiful marriage of simplicity and sensuality in the garment. For a fraction of a second, a nasty thought intruded her mind - even Jim would have appreciated this ensemble. Struck with immediate guilt, Sophie shook her head and smiled at Nancy. 

“This one is perfect. I’ll take it.” 

The two women idly chatted about how business was doing as they made their way over to the cash register. As the shopkeeper fussed with tissue paper and ribbons behind the counter, she contemplated aloud, “Your boyfriend is such a treat in the store! So much better than the creeps who come around sometimes!” 

Sophie grinned as her mind wandered towards Sherlock’s _perversions_ this morning. She simply nodded and politely continued the conversation, hoping that Nancy wasn’t the type to overshare. 

“The nerve of some people! I hope nobody bothers you too much.” 

“Not really, no. But when there are weirdos, they’re _really_ bad. A few months ago, there...”

So, she _was_ the type to overshare. 

“...was this guy who would come into the store almost every other day! I mean, we totally get men who will come in alone to buy things, but he was by himself every single time and he never bought a single thing! It totally scared me because I live above the shop _alone_. Can you imagine?” 

Sophie’s brows knotted together. That did sound upsetting. Nancy moved to shake open a pink paper bag as she continued to rant. 

“There was something totally off about him too. I could tell he wasn’t actually shopping for anything. He’d just come in and snoop around. As if that wasn’t bad enough, he would even ask me questions like how often I’m in the shop. And whether or not I live alone. I didn’t know whether or not it was a good thing that I’m practically _married_ to my shop and I never leave. Not only that, but I later found out that he was a _criminal_. Like, _went to jail_ criminal. He totally disappeared a few weeks ago though. Haven’t bothered me since, thankfully!”

Sherlock suddenly appeared beside Sophie with a colossal grin on his face. Catching him snooping over the counter, Nancy cheekily slammed the opening of the bag closed. She wagged a single finger at the man and teased, “Don’t go ruining your surprise now!” Turning to Sophie, she continued, “Your total today is...” 

Sherlock interrupted the woman by sliding a credit card across the table. Sophie gave him an inquisitive look and tried to shake off an eerie feeling of deja vu. Unaware of her discomfort, Sherlock simply returned her look with a wink of his own. Nancy clapped her hands together (a habit Sherlock found rather annoying), and finished the transaction. Soon, Sophie was clutching a glossy bag, and Nancy waved the couple off with a cheery, “Goodbye, Mr. Watson.” 

The instant she heard the front door swung shut, Sophie turned to Sherlock. “Mr. Watson?” She accused. Sherlock beamed and replied, “I borrowed John’s card.”

\--

“Sherlock, what am I going to do with this?” Sophie asked while gesturing to her bag. He gave her a puzzled look and plainly replied, “Wear it, I presume.” Noticing that she meant more than what she would literally do with the lingerie, he continued, “I needed to scope the shop out for our Moriarty case. I guess the lingerie is just collateral. You can do what you please with it.” Now back at the apartment, he was combing through his manila folder while Sophie shifted towards the kitchen to put on a kettle.

A pattern seemed to be forming with Sherlock. With every step towards clarity, things would somehow become more muddled. One second he was affectionate, and now his attitude towards pursuing something physical seemed lackluster at best. She turned her head and gave a slight pout. She couldn’t tell where to draw the line between desperately throwing herself at Sherlock and helping a...less socialized man understand what her needs were. She didn’t even realize she was sulking until her eyes met Sherlock’s own brown orbs. 

Walking over to the sullen woman, he held both arms behind his back and leaned slightly forward to barely graze his nose against hers. He gave her just the slightest grin before asking, “Would you like to wear it for me?” Sophie pushed past Sherlock and grumbled, “Not if you’re going to act like _you’re_ doing _me_ a favor.” 

Sherlock caught her wrist before she could get too far and quickly jerked her into his arms. 

“Would you _please_ do me the favor of wearing my surprise?” 

Try as she might, Sophie couldn’t contain a small giggle. How could Sherlock be so charming and insufferable at the same time. She leaned upwards on the tips of her toes to brush her lips against Sherlock’s. Just as he deepened the kiss, the front door flew open. Sophie groaned into his lips as she pulled away. It seemed like their friends had _impeccable_ timing today. 

Completely oblivious, Watson strolled into the living room. Depositing his keys on a nearby table, he happily greeted Sophie and Sherlock. Sophie warmly gave him a peck on each cheek, and excused herself to make their mugs of tea. As she waited for the kettle to boil, the sound of Watson aggressively hissing at Sherlock caught her attention. She quietly inched towards the disruption in an attempt to catch what was upsetting the doctor. 

She covered her mouth to stifle laughter as she watched Sherlock holding up her new lingerie set as Watson attempted to put it back in the bag without actually touching it. 

“Sherlock, you can’t just go around showing me Sophie’s lingerie!” 

“Why not? It’s just clothing. It’s no different than the shirt she’s wearing now.”

“What?! Of course it’s different. This is indecent!” 

“It’s for the case.” 

“I’m sure she wouldn’t appreciate you waving around her undergarments, Sherlock! And how the hell is a corset relevant to the death of a janitor?”

Sherlock caught himself before he clapped his hands together. Damn Nancy and her annoying habits rubbing off on him so quickly. Relenting to John’s pleading, he deposited the red mesh back into it’s bag. Whipping back around towards John, he replied, “It has everything to do with the case.”

Sophie returned to the living room while delicately balancing three hot cups of tea. John uttered gratitude as he picked up his mug. 

“Sherlock. The ‘creep’ that Nancy was telling me about. It wouldn’t be the janitor, would it?” Sophie ventured to guess. 

Sherlock jumped on top of the couch and turned to point at the her. “Exactly our man!” He shouted with glee. Watson sat in his usual seat, completely resigned to letting Sherlock do...whatever it was that he did. Sophie laughed as she sat next to John. Sherlock, still speaking aloud, seemed to be talking to himself as opposed to addressing the room. 

“Why? Why would a man who showed no prior inclinations towards stalking or predatory behavior suddenly find a lingerie store so fascinating?”

Sophie shrugged. “Some people are just weird?” 

“No. This is beyond ‘weird’. This was obsession. There’s _something_ inside that store that is so valuable that a man on parole would risk a restraining order over.”

He practically ricocheted off the couch as he bounded towards the kitchen. Watson continued to sip on his beverage with indifference as he leaved over to whisper to Sophie, “Don’t worry. He’ll come around to explaining what’s going on to us _small minded_ people later.” He gave her wink as he sat straight again. 

The sound of glass sliding across wood and then...was that a hair dryer? Watson was now pursuing a newspaper. Without looking up, he said, “Give him time. He’ll come back to earth sooner or later.” 

Sophie chuckled as she pulled her feet up. She might as well get comfortable. A few more minutes passed, and soon Sherlock was back in the living room. He held up a single rectangular sheet of paper. “What does this look like to you?” He asked the room. 

John put his paper down and gave his friend a look. “Is this the point where you ask us questions, even though you know the answers, just so we can look stupid?” 

Sherlock scoffed, “Don’t be ridiculous, John. You don’t need my help to look stupid.” 

Sophie quickly cut in before Sherlock could continue to insult his friend. She plucked the sheet from his hand and rubbed it between her fingers. “It’s the size of a bill. It feels like a pound note?” She guessed.

Sherlock pointed a finger at her direction and exclaimed, “Exactly!” 

“But it’s blank. It’s just white.” 

Sherlock pressed his fingers together as a mischievous look clouded his features. 

“Precisely.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize that this chapter is out later than normal! I work seven days a week and my weekends are the busiest, so I might start updating on weekdays instead of Saturday/Sunday! Thanks for sticking around! :)


	20. Tinsel and Blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sophie reveals how she learned the truth regarding Moriarty.

Despite the mysterious whereabouts of Moriarty, Sophie still managed to find a comfortable routine at 221B Baker Street. She was happy to peek into the lives of Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson as they embarked on new cases. As Sophie played the role of quiet observer, the men found her presence relaxing. John particularly enjoyed how _humanizing_ having a girlfriend made Sherlock.

Thus, Sophie found herself reclining on Sherlock’s couch with a sketchbook delicately balanced atop her knees. Her boyfriend was in the kitchen doing whatever it was he did, and she was content with making some leeway on her newest project - _The Mighty Hen and Her Friends_. Doing her best to ignore the mysterious odors making their way towards her from the kitchen, Sophie slowly pulled a blade over the tip of her wooden pencil. She found the methodical motion of manually sharpening a pencil comforting, and took advantage of the time to think about her next stroke. Finally happy with the point created, she sheathed the blade and returned to sketching.

Sophie hadn’t even realized it was dinnertime until Dr. Watson appeared and set a sandwich down beside her drawing utensils. She hummed in appreciation and put her things aside to chat with the man as he slid into the seat beside her.

“Sherlock...”

“He won’t eat until he’s done with work.” 

“Oh. I figured as much. At least it’s giving me time to catch up on some projects. My publisher is furious at how slowly I’ve been working lately.” 

John pulled a sheet of sketching paper across the table with his finger and smiled at the drawing. A small turtle was lazying on a rock by the side of a pound. Various greens and blues swirled together to capture the movement of water as the smiling turtle...laughed? Watson shook his head from side to side in disbelief. 

“I still don’t get it. How could you stand being with someone like Moriarty or Sherlock. Don’t get me wrong, I love the man. But even then, I could understand how being with him could be exhausting.” 

Sophie laughed and popped a kettle chip into her mouth. She had never thought much about why she loved Moriarty. It wasn’t like she had some sort of pros and cons list when it came to dating. She just simply fell in love. Tilting her head to the side she teased, “It’s not like I purposefully go around dating sociopaths. It just sort of happened that way.”

Another chip popped into her mouth as she continued to contemplate. It wasn’t that complicated though, was it? It’s not like she was a saint or doing those men a favor by being with them. They were both perfectly fine boyfriends who seemed to give just as much as they took. She certainly wasn’t forced to do anything against her will. She just saw something more to them. She continued, “I guess, working with children you kind of realize that at the end of the day, there are certain raw needs and desires that are the root of human nature. Regardless of whether you’re a world class criminal or detective, we all operate under the same basic wants. Even if _some_ of us don’t realize it.” 

She gave a pointed nod towards the kitchen. John grinned and leaned forward. Still holding onto his sandwich with one hand, he inquired, “And what sorts of wants do our two favorite men have in common?” 

“Oh, I don’t know. At the heart of it, I think that people don’t necessarily want to be understood. They just want permission to just _be_. With Jim, I gave him the respect of privacy, and offered my support when he needed it. I was happy to just be with _Jim_. I didn’t need him to be anybody else.” 

“And with Sherlock?” 

“Now that’s a mystery I’m still trying to figure out.” Sophie laughed. She picked a piece of tomato out of her sandwich and laid it at the edge of her plate. “I don’t want to overthink things. Life is complicated enough as it is.” She sighed. 

“I hope I’m not prying too much, but how did you find out the truth regarding Moriarty anyways?” 

Sophie took another bite of her sandwich and grimaced. It had been a while since she thought about that night. Even Anna didn’t talk to her about it much after everything was said and done. It was like a nightmare she would have rather swept under the rug. But looking into Watson’s warm eyes, she knew he was coming from a place of concern and genuine interest. 

“Richard’s, I mean, Jim’s birthday was coming up, and he had just proposed.” 

Watson caught his sandwich as it fell from his plate. Sophie grinned as she watched the poor man attempt to gracefully reposition his food without drawing attention to himself. In the most polite and neutral voice he could muster, he clarified, “Proposed?” 

“Yes. The details are probably a story for another day, but he had just recently proposed and I accepted.” 

Watson gave a diplomatic nod as he waited for Sophie to continue. Gently closing her eyes, she thought back to the fateful night her entire world collapsed. Her now fiancée had mentioned in passing once that he never celebrated birthdays. Not necessarily because he didn’t enjoy the idea, but rather because he never had the opportunity to as a child, and the habit just stuck. Despite that fact though, he had always made sure to shower Sophie with lavish gifts and celebrations when her birthday came around. Since he had never had a childhood birthday party, Sophie decided it would be funny and cute to surprise the man by decorating his office with over-the-top cliché decorations.

“He told me that he would be out of town on a short business call. I snuck a spare key to the art store where we first met. He was using the back room as an office at the time.” 

And so, she found herself clutching a bag full of tinsel and streamers in one hand, and a dozen balloons in the other as she quietly snuck into the small shop. She lightly moved down the hallway, when the darkness was suddenly illuminated by a flash of light. A sharp pop followed, as two more flashes and pops trailed afterwards. A muffled shriek echoed across the hall, and Sophie slapped a hand over her mouth as she realized the screams were coming from herself. 

“It didn’t register in my head immediately. It was as if space and time were separating and I was watching myself from afar. When I finally understood that I was hearing gunfire, it was too late.”

The office was was ajar, and light spilled out into the walkway. The last sight Sophie remembered before fainting was catching the eye of the man she loved as he held a revolver over the body of a dead man lying in a pool of his own blood. 

“I woke up back at our home, but everything had changed. He tried to reason with me, and when that didn’t work he began to threaten me. And when _that_ didn’t work, he just simply gave up on me. He became completely emotionless. Anything I said or did was met with a blank wall.” 

The next day she came home to an empty house. Everything that he had touched was gone. Finding it unbearable to remain, Sophie had followed suit. Soon thereafter, the news of Jim Moriarty surfaced, and she selfishly felt like it was a personal affront as he mocked her from the front pages of newspapers all across London. 

“Maybe he was trying to stick it to me. Or maybe it was just a stroke of convenience that he no longer had to hide who he was just as his great game with Sherlock began.”

Sophie’s mind returned to the present day as she idly twirled a pencil in her hand. The more she thought about how selfish Jim was for leading her on, the angrier she became. It didn’t matter that he _had_ been a thoughtful and kind boyfriend to her. The keyword was “had”. The entire basis of her life had been a lie for so many years. He had _stolen_ those years from her, and he had _stolen_ her affection through deceit. Sure, Sherlock could be a giant asshole at times, but at least he was honest about it and did his best to reel it back in when she would point it out. 

She sure knew how to pick em’.


	21. Pedestrian Dates and Non-Pedestrian Feelings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A date for Sophie and Sherlock, and a confrontation of feelings.

Warm hands snaked around Sophie’s waist as she took in the familiar scent of Sherlock Holmes. She always wondered how he seemed to smell so enticing - woodsy with a hint of spice - when she had never seen him use any cologne. She appreciated his natural heady smell though, as she tilted her head backwards to nestle in the slope between his neck and shoulder. 

“I hope I haven’t kept you waiting too long. There were some complications down at the morgue,” Sherlock breathed into her ear. He pressed his nose into the crown of her head as he, himself, savored her fragrance. Placing both hands on her hips, Sherlock pivoted the slender woman so that she turned to face him. Pushing up onto to tips of her toes, she wrapped her arms around his neck and gave him a quick peck on the lips. 

“Tell me about it inside?” She asked as she reached down to hold his hand. He peppered brisk kisses down from the top of her forehead, along the bridge of her nose, and lingered on her parted lips. “Are you sure you don’t want to go back to Baker Street and...” His voiced trailed off and he returned to pressing his lips against her own. 

Smirking into his mouth, Sophie pushed Sherlock backwards and wagged a finger at him. Laughing, she continued, “No way. Not today, mister. We’re going on a...what did you call it again? A _pedestrian date_? You’re not getting out of it!” She tugged him more forcefully through a doorway. 

The shop was everything Sherlock despised. 

The square room was cramped, and each wall was painted a distinctly different and bright color. Floor to ceiling shelving with various ceramic figurines crowded together lined the back of the room, and rickety wooden tables wore nicks and paint splatters like badges of honor. With Sophie by his side to serve as a distraction, Sherlock might have been able to handle the sensory overload. But even she couldn’t help him from biting back a look of disgust from, in his opinion, the worst possible thing ever. 

The children. 

They sat in groups huddled around painting their figurines. He pinched the bridge of his nose as he watched the children run about with dirtied hands as they wielded paintbrushes like swords with no regard to the things (or people) they were bumping into. Side-stepping one boy who was waving around his wet brush in a particularly aggressive manner, Sherlock pouted and pleaded towards Sophie with his eyes. 

“Nope. We had dinner at the station last week so you could annoy Greg about his case. This week, we do what I want to do.” Sophie stated matter of factly. She maneuvered to the back of the room so they could select their figurines while completely ignoring her boyfriends’s huffs.

Sherlock held up a ceramic Labrador and muttered, “This can’t possibly be the best use of our time.” 

“No, I wouldn’t say it is. But sometimes it’s ok to do things just for fun, Sherlock.” Sophie gently responded. She gave him a soft pat on the arm and flashed him a wide smile. He huffed a final time. He had been finding it more and more difficult to deny her, especially from things which made her so happy. 

“Very well,” he conceded before scrutinizing the shelf before him. They both finally decided on their figurines, and settled down at a table to paint. He filled her in on his day, and did a fair bit of complaining about _”Gary, the dim witted inspector”_. Sherlock relished in every expression that passed across Sophie’s face. The way her eyes crinkled when she laughed in response to something funny Watson had said during their investigation. Or how her eyebrows knotted together to show concern at a particularly dicey moment when he had to break into a hardware store. Or the way her eyes glared when she reprimanded him (for the hundredth time according to her), that his name was _Greg_. 

Sherlock Holmes was not a conversationalist, but for Sophie Carter, he would speak until his lungs gave out if it meant he could catch that damn smile one more time. 

By the time he had finally gotten to the conclusion of his case, their figurines had been painted and handed off to the attendant to be fired in a kiln. The elderly woman relayed that their projects could be picked up in a week, and with that Sherlock and Sophie exited to the bustling street. 

“So,” Sophie started as she leaned against Sherlock’s arm.

“So,” he supplied. They stared at each other in silence for a moment before breaking out into hearty laughter. Sophie placed her palm against Sherlock’s cheek and finished, “Alright, since you were such a good sport today, you can choose dinner.” 

\--

“Okay, sweetie. I’ll be there in a minute. No, no, no. It’s no problem at all. Okay, love you too!” Sophie briskly said goodbye before hastily cramming her phone into her bag. She reached over a pile of miscellaneous papers and snatched her keys up. 

“Where are you going?” Sherlock inquired as he stepped into the doorway to watch his girlfriend speed around his apartment. It had been a few days since he had seen Sophie during their figurine painting date, and he had hoped to have dinner with her. Double checking for her things, Sophie finally stepped up to Sherlock. She planted a quick kiss at the side of his mouth, and replied, “Anna got into a fight with Jack, so I’m meeting her at Pret for some coffee to talk it out. I don’t think I’ll be back before dinner, so please don’t wait for me. I’ll text you when I’m done!” 

He watched her back as she flew down the stairs and tilted his head to the side. Although the words weren’t directed towards him, he still heard the ring of _”love you too”_ echoing in his head. 

\--

Anna clasped her hands over Sophie’s and then leaned over the table to pull her friend into a tight embrace. “Thank you so much for listening to me rant about Jack. You’re right, I was being a bit unreasonable.” She sheepishly admitted. Sophie smiled and returned her friend’s hug. Patting her back lightly, Sophie gently responded, “It’s okay, Anna. You love that man. Things are bound to get feisty sometimes.” 

The two women pulled apart, and Anna’s eyes lingered on Sophie’s as if searching for something. Groaning at her best friend, Sophie let go and the two women sat back down in their respective seats. Now that they were done dissecting Anna’s love life, Sophie knew it was a matter of time before it was her turn to be interrogated. Sophie held her palm out as a gesture for Anna to begin. 

Anna’s eyes glinted in excitement as she leaned forward. Elbows on the table and head resting on her fists, she eased in with a softball question. 

“How are you and Sherlock doing?” 

“Sherlock..well, he’s you know, Sherlock.” Sophie nervously laughed. Anna’s face was flat at Sophie’s unimpressive, and namely, _vague_ answer. 

“Well, we’re still on that dead janitor case. Sherlock thinks there’s something more sinister happening that deals with the treasury. But we just haven’t figured out what his tie to the actual Moriarty is, and whether or not...” 

Sophie was interrupted with a huff from Anna. 

“You know I’m not talking about the case,” Anna softly whispered. She reached out for her friend a second time and continued, “Sweetheart, you haven’t dated in _years_ , and now you practically spend every other night with the man. I just want to make sure you’re not rushing into anything because of...you know.”

“I mean, sometimes I wonder that too. But it’s not like that with Sherlock. With Jim everything was a puzzle. I had to figure him out, keep him interested...every intention was dissected and studied and now that I think about it...something always felt unequal. He was so poised and refined, while I was still just a student.” 

Sophie fiddled with her napkin. She slowly tore off thin strips and balled them up before continuing. 

“But with Sherlock, it’s so natural and easy. This might sound odd, but it’s like he has no _expectations_ for me, if that makes any sense at all. It’s like he can see straight into my soul, and there’s no need for pretenses because he’s already unraveled everything about me. Jim was the same way, but he was so much more calculated. With Sherlock, it feels like he’s just trying to understand me. And despite his intellect and...difficult personality...he’s never made me feel _lesser_.”

Anna snorted into her coffee and piped up, “He must love you, because I’m sure he enjoys making Watson and Greg feel ‘lesser’ any chance he gets.” 

Sophie’s cheeks involuntarily reddened, and the change in color didn’t go undetected to Anna. She leaned forward and gasped, “Oh my God. You love him, don’t you?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're from the States, you might know Color Me Mine. I've never seen something like that while living in London, but I thought it would make such a cute date!


	22. A Broken Relic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sophie confronts her feelings, and the case progresses.

Impossible. If Sophie Carter loved Sherlock Holmes, then she was the biggest dolt in London. After everything that transpired with Moriarty, she should have more sense then to fall in love with another man who had no sense of how normal adults functioned in a relationship. Sure he could be sentimental on occasion, but could someone like Sherlock actually possess the capability or desire to actually love another?

She would have been happy to continue along in pure and blissful ignorance, but leave it to Anna to force her best friend to confront her feelings. As if she could read her friend’s thoughts, Anna piped up, “Look, I love Sherlock. But I love you more. You need to know what you’re getting yourself into. He’s not your typical man. If this gets any more serious and doesn’t work out...I don’t think you’ll have any more pieces of yourself left to pick up.”

Sophie idly stirred at the last remains of her latte as she contemplated Anna’s words. 

“I think you’re right. I don’t think he’ll ever love me the way I wish he would. He’ll never call my mum just to check in. He’ll probably never buy me flowers because they’ll die. All of our friends will hate him at one point or another, and he’s probably terrible with children. But I also think it’s selfish to expect him to be somebody he’s not. To me, our relationship is more than just going through the motions of what society expects of us.” 

Sophie tucked a stray piece of hair behind an ear as she thought about their relationship. It certainly wasn’t archetypal, but it was theirs nonetheless. She knew that it was hard for him to do conventional things like sit in the cinema for two hours. It was also probably his own personal form of torture to listen to her friends gossip whenever they went out together. He definitely didn’t understand the importance of life events such as attending her coworker’s housewarming party. Yet, he still made those concessions for her. Time after time, he proved with his actions that she held worth in his eyes, and her needs were just as important as his. To Sophie, that was more than enough, and worth more than uttering three words.

If “I care for you” was all she would ever receive from Sherlock Holmes, then she would take it. 

In her typical understanding fashion, Anna silently nodded and patted her friend’s hand. She had voiced her concerns, and that was enough.

\--

Sophie hugged Anna goodbye, and stepped into the street with a slight bounce in her step. Not only had she gotten to spend some much needed quality time with her best friend, but she had finished their chat with enough time to grab some takeout and enjoy dinner with Sherlock. After hanging up the phone with a confirmation of “the usual Chinese”, she decided to swing by the pottery store to pick up their figurines as well. The day was shaping up to be rather productive, and Sophie felt positively radiant. 

Popping into a black cab, she remerged onto a busy street and entered the little shop. Despite being a weeknight, it was still bustling with energy as children ran to and fro with color splattered fingers as they chattered in excitement over their projects. She greeted a cherub faced woman, and exchanged her receipt for two brown paper bags which presumably held her little work of art. 

“Thank you!” Sophie merrily waved as she turned to exit back onto the street. With the small reminders of her date night in one hand, and dinner in the other, Sophie hopped back towards the flat she would find her boyfriend in. 

\--

When Sophie returned to 221B Baker Street, she found the flat to be in chaos. She chuckled at the fact that the most erratic and random sights, sounds, and smells now left her completely unfazed. Leave it to Sherlock to find it perfectly acceptable to do things such as bring home an animal carcass or invite drug addicts over for tea. Gingerly swinging open the door, she peered into the room to check if the coast was clear. 

The room stilled for a moment before Dr. Watson’s frantic visage popped into vision. Concern and frustration painted across his features as he pantomimed for the woman to enter quickly and quietly. Gripping her arm tightly, he gritted, “Sherlock’s having another one of his moods again. I came home and he was ranting about some sort of ‘missing link’ in the Moriarty case. I’ve just hidden his gun before he makes damn sure we never get our deposit back.” 

Sophie shot the man a look of sympathy and handed the food over to him. At this point, Sherlock would never eat dinner so the doctor might as well feed himself. She shrugged off her coat, and took cat-like steps towards the kitchen. Those nature documentarians had nothing on her. 

Slipping behind the detective quietly, she slowly reached out towards him.

“Hello, Sophie.”

Arms dropped back down to her waist as she popped a hip out and threw her hands out in defeat. Sherlock turned and blandly stated, “You know you can’t sneak up on me.” His usual playful tone was sharply lackluster as he pulled his hands through his hair. Methodically raking his fingers through, Sophie became alarmed as it soon turned to tugging. 

She reached out and lifted his hands away from his face. Slowly kissing each knuckle, she turned his hand around and muttered into his palm, “Why don’t you take a break? You can tell me all about what’s going on over some tea.” Sherlock gazed into the pool of Sophie’s dark eyes. Sometimes it seemed as if they were unending wells - a spring of calm in the midst of the chaos in his life. He relented. After all, how could he ever say ‘no’ to those eyes. 

Sophie peeked around the corner, and noticed that John had taken part of the food to his room, and left the rest on the coffee table. She didn’t blame him for wanting to avoid Sherlock for the rest of the night. Tugging her boyfriend along, she lightly pushed him into his seat and then went about making tea just the way he liked it. 

When she returned, she set the mugs down to cool before climbing up into his lap. Legs pulled underneath her, she wiggled from side to side before settling into a comfortable position. By this point, Sherlock had become accustomed to casual physical interaction, and even looked forward to those tender moments when he could feel the press of her body against his. As time progressed, he even found himself finding small excuses to brush against the woman. 

“Tell me about your day,” Sherlock insisted. Sophie cocked her head to the side in confusion. He sighed and explained, “John told me that it’s customary for couples to talk about their day. Apparently it’s polite and an indication of a healthy relationship.” 

Sophie’s melodic chuckle danced across the room. “You don’t have to do that, Sherlock. I know you’re not interested in things like that.” He shook his head and insisted again. Pulling her chin up so she could meet his eyes, he replied, “Please indulge my desire for...normalcy.” The couple held each other’s gaze for what felt like eternity. Sophie nodded, and quietly relayed the events of her day to Sherlock. 

His face remained stoic, but he would quip in the right places with small insights or opinions (with the exception of a rather long tirade regarding his opinion of Anna’s relationship). Finally, Sophie reached over to the table and grabbed the two paper bags. She flashed a bright smile and passed him a bag with “Sherlock” scrawled across the front in sloppy cursive. He grimaced as he pulled out a painted flowerpot. 

Sherlock Holmes may possess one of the brightest minds of the century; however, he was _not _a gifted artist. Sophie covered her mouth and burst into gleeful laughter. Reaching over, she plucked the pot from his elongated fingers and turned the piece over in her hands. She found the entire thing to be absolutely endearing and sweet. The small pot was only big enough to plant herbs in the kitchen, but it held more than that in her eyes.__

__She traced over hand painted clouds with her fingers, and took in the sloppy blue strokes. To others, it would seem just a knick-knack, but to her it was everything._ _

__“Oh, can I keep it? Please? It’s _wonderful_ ,” Sophie cooed. At Sherlock’s affirmation, she placed a hand behind his neck and pulled him in for a kiss. The pair separated slightly out of breathe and with flushed cheeks. No matter how many times their lips brushed, Sherlock never got used to the electric pulse that would zip from head to toe. _ _

__Setting the pot on the table, Sophie reached for her bag. She had painted a mug dotted with little icons to indicate various popular cases Sherlock had solved. She hoped that his ego would encourage him to use the mug more often._ _

__“Oh my God.”_ _

__Sophie dropped what was in her hand. A sharp clatter sounded as the figurine that was once in her hand hit the floor and shattered. Sherlock immediately stood, and pushed the woman behind him. Leaning forward he scrutinized the remains on the ground. Quickly turning, he questioned, “What was it? What was in the bag?”_ _

__“It...it was a miniature globe. But...” Sophie’s voice wavered as she began to involuntarily shake. Shuffling backwards, her hands shook as she reached behind to steady herself on any surface she could find. Sherlock swept towards her and pulled her into his chest. Smoothing his palm in straight lines down her spine, he calmly implored, “Stay calm, Sophie. Focus. Tell me what you can.”_ _

__She pulled away, eyes now glistening and cheeks wet. Drawing a deep breathe, Sophie explained, “The globe was painted to look exactly like one that Jim kept on his desk. The last time I ever saw him before he first disappeared...we were fighting...about the murder I saw. And...and then I picked up his globe and threw it across the room and it broke...”_ _

__A glimmer caught Sherlock’s eyes, and he moved to further inspect the broken relic. Squatting down towards the floor, he realized that a white powder had spilled from inside the globe._ _

__Peering over his shoulder, Sophie meekly asked, “What is that?”_ _

__Sherlock gravely turned his head and simply responded, “I don’t know.”_ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! I'm so sorry that this came out so late! Things have gotten a bit crazy in my life, and I've been hit with writer's block. Hopefully things will settle down soon though!


	23. Argument and Defense

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sophie finds herself in an argument with Sherlock and Moriarty.

The lab had now become a familiar backdrop in Sophie’s life. Although many would consider it an unconventional date night spot, she rather enjoyed the nights spent keeping her boyfriend company. Sophie never complained that Sherlock spent most of his time there with his nose in the microscope. After all, it was his job. But she did relish in those fleeting moments when he’d come up for air and the two could chat over take-out. If Sherlock was in a particularly good mood, sometimes he’d even pull her into his lap and point out what this chemical did, or what that test result meant. 

Those tender moments were her favorite. When the gap between his obsession with work and his relationship with Sophie narrowed. He’d sit Sophie on his lap and tightly wrap one arm around her waist. Chest to back, she could feel his breath rise in excitement as he used his free hand to move things around the table like an eager child during show-and-tell. Once in a while, they’d even just sit like that in silence - her head lolled backwards as he nestled his face in the space between her neck and shoulder. 

Once, she even tentatively asked if she was proving to be a distraction. And once, she prayed for her beating heart to calm as he murmured into her ear...

“Never a distraction. Only the solitary source of peace in my life.”

But today, was not one of those days. 

Sherlock was aggressively flipping through slides in an attempt to pinpoint exactly what fell out of Moriarty’s globe. His partner, Watson, was seated next to the irritated man doing his best to sort through whatever was being tossed his way. 

The detective leaned backwards and ran a hand through his tousled curls. Folding and unfolding his hands over and over again, Sherlock furrowed his brows deep in thought. Normally, Sophie would give Sherlock his space while he worked, but tonight she found herself gravitating towards his table. Maybe it was out of sheer boredom, or perhaps it was from an inexplicable need to do _something_. Regardless, she reached out towards the powder with her bare hands to inspect it closer. Suddenly, she felt a sharp grip at her wrist as Sherlock’s hand shot out to stop her from making contact with the substance.

“Don’t touch that. Why would you touch something if you didn’t know what it was?”

Sophie huffed at Sherlock’s tone. This was the first time she actually felt like he was talking down to her. Logically, she understood that he was strained under the stress of their predicament. But something deep inside of Sophie itched to be unreasonable. Something inside of her wanted to look for a fight to release all of this pent up tension. She whipped her wrist out of his grip as if it was touching a hot coal. 

“It was just an instinct. Not all of us are calculative robots!” 

Sherlock’s eyes narrowed. He slowly swiveled in his seat so that his torso was facing Sophie dead on. Maintaining severe eye contact, he felt his following words drip from his mouth like acid. 

“I didn’t realize not acting like a simpleton made me a _calculative robot_.” 

“And I didn’t realize that you thought I was so beneath you. Well, _thank you_ Sherlock Holmes for deeming me worthy to waste your time on.”

Sherlock and Sophie hadn’t realized how close together they were shouting in each other’s faces until Watson pushed the two apart. Arms spread wide to encourage distance between the arguing couple, he pleaded at them to calm down and keep their wits. Watson’s even tone broke the silence as he beseeched the couple, “Seriously guys. This isn’t the time or place.”

Sophie threw him an icy glare as she seethed, “You’re right. This isn’t the time or place.” She quickly turned on her heel and snatched her bag before storming out of the lab - exiting with a loud slam to the door. 

Watson turned to Sherlock looking totally vexed. Rubbing exhaustion from his eyes, Watson chided, “That wasn’t fair, Sherlock.” 

“There’s nothing to be _fair_ about, John.” 

“You’re stressed. And worried. But that’s no reason to go goading your girlfriend into a fight.” 

“It takes two to fight. She was just as mean.” 

John gaped at his friend in disbelief. In between chasing killers and solving cases, sometimes he forgot how juvenile his friend could be. Lips set in a firm line, John stated, “Look. Not many people have the patience to deal with your eccentricities. But Sophie has proven time after time again to possess the patience to not only put up with your asshole-ish nature, but to find something deep inside of you to love. Where she finds said patience, I don’t know. But what I do know is that when someone unconditionally loves and accepts you the way she does, you don’t let it go because you’re too hardheaded to apologize.”

Sherlock silently mouthed a single word as he fumbled through processing his emotions. 

_Love._

Meanwhile, Sophie was stalking down the street completely blinded by anger and annoyance. How dare he? She pulled her coat closer to her chest and heaved in indignation. What made her the most upset though was the fact that she knew she would forgive him. That’s just the way she was. She was too damn understanding. It was probably this part of her nature that made Anna so concerned and protective. 

Her harsh stomps slowly faded into quiet clacks as she meandered through the streets of London. And just as the fleeting thought that wandering alone wasn’t the smartest, nor safest, decision, she felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. 

“Trouble in paradise?” 

Sophie stopped in her tracks and groaned. Of course. Why couldn’t she have normal exes who just ghosted her at the end of a relationship or did “normal” things like fight about water bills or missed calls. She just _had_ to have a penchant for sociopaths who thought it was appropriate to murder strangers for attention or throw stress induced fits in a police lab. 

Jim Moriarty held his head at an angle and flashed her a dangerous smile. Over-dressed in his typical fashion, he still managed to look relaxed as he leaned on his side against an unmarked black SUV. Tilting his head, he silently indicated for her to get into the car. When he noticed that she hadn’t moved, he went ahead and opened the door for her. 

“I wasn’t asking. Get in the car, sweetheart.” 

\--

How on earth Sophie ended up awkwardly sitting on Moriarty’s couch completely baffled her. She looked around at the open loft and would have normally admired the architecture if it wasn’t for the fact that Jim was casting her a harsh gaze. She knew this look. She had been the subject of this look from both Jim and Sherlock. A look that meant they were scrutinizing and processing information to file away for later use. 

_Hem._ Sophie stiffly cleared her throat. 

Brought out of his thoughts, Jim sat back and crossed a leg over his knee. Still surveying the woman in front of him, his lips slowly curled up into a grin. 

Sophie began to fidget with the hem of her sweatshirt again. She hated that she wished she had put on something more becoming. Instead, in her rush to get to the lab she had thrown on an old collegiate sweatshirt over black leggings littered with lint. Years later, she still felt compelled to _impress_ Jim Moriarty, and that thought disgusted her.

Face flushed in embarrassment, her fidgeting stopped when she noticed Jim watching her fingers pinch at the soft cotton fabric. He knew about her nervous habits, and she hated that it made her look so childish. What she didn’t know was that Jim found the entire act to be endearing. He loved how her emotions were always displayed front and center like a heart on her sleeve. He found her nervous tittering to be _sweet_ , and it deeply annoyed him that after all this time, part of him instinctively desired to soothe her. 

She peered up at the man and asked, “Why am I here, Jim?” 

“We never finished our fight, and I’m not fond of unfinished business.” 

Sophie gawked. Was he serious? They had broken up _years_ ago. He had wordlessly abandoned her to publicly perform some of the most atrocious acts while simultaneously harassing her now boyfriend. All in the name of _fun_. Now, three years later, he was ready to have a heart-to-heart about their failed relationship? 

“What is there to finish, Jim? You showed me how you felt when you gave up on us and disappeared.” 

“You wouldn’t _listen_. I was trying to _explain_.”

“Are you fucking kidding me? You are seriously not about to put the blame on me. What did you expect? I don’t know whether to call you Jim or Richard. You deceived me for five years. I saw my fiancée _murder_ someone. How the hell was I supposed to process all of that information and then be _okay_ with it?” 

Jim tightly clutched at his armrest and focused on leveling his breathing. No, letting his anger manifest into smashing something would _not_ be a step in the right direction. He slowly punctuated each syllable, “I’m not _blaming_ you. I’m just merely stating that if you had given me an opportunity to clarify, I could have made amends.” 

Sophie’s face was flat and completely devoid of emotion. Even Jim was taken aback by her sudden icy demeanor. 

“You just assume that you’re entitled to my empathy. And that’s where you’re wrong. I don’t owe you anything.” 

Jim let out a low whistle and smirked. There she was. There was the fiery women he had fallen in love with all those years ago. He slowly rose from his seat and walked over to a bar cart. “And they say that I’m the cold-hearted one,” he teased. The sound of ice hitting glass and then the splash of liquor filled the silence that had now settled in the room. Setting a glass in front of Sophie, he returned to his seat while swirling the amber liquid of his own highball. 

Sophie cast a suspicious look towards her beverage, which elicited a sigh from Jim. He took a long sip from her glass and rolled his eyes. “Whiskey and iced green tea. Just the way you like it,” he winked. Picking up her glass, Sophie took a healthy gulp before she asked, “So now what? What’s the point of all of this?” 

Jim’s eyes softened as he looked at Sophie. She felt like a weight was crushing her ribs as her breath stuttered. Jim had only given her those soft eyes twice - once when they shared a bed for the first time. The second time was when he had proposed. 

“I want to start over. A new beginning.” 

Sophie spat her drink back into the glass as she began to sputter and choke. Torn halfway between a bellow and a cry, she shrieked, “You’re joking. This is all a joke, right? You’re an intelligent man, Jim. You can’t be serious.” Jim Moriarty was not a man who would allow anyone to laugh at him, but he willed himself to remain composed. Jaws clenched, he retorted, “What would be so farfetched about reestablishing our relationship? We share a sentimental history and have already experienced what it’s like to be in a committed relationship. For Gods sake, I know things about you like your preferred warm beverage when your menstrual cycle begins.” 

He clutched his glass and ignored Sophie’s guffaw. She leaned forward and threw him an incredulous look. Squeezing out words between laughs she replied, “There’s that entitlement all over again. You don’t just _move on_ from what happened between us. And have you forgotten that I’m dating Sherlock now? Or are you egotistical enough to overlook that fact?”

Jim gave her a hardened look before quietly humming, “I know you haven’t slept with him yet. Why is that, Sophie?” 

It was her turn to recoil. She spat in disgust, “You don’t need to have sex to love someone.” He gave her a withering look of pure poison as he replied, “That’s not what you said when I had you moaning underneath-“ 

His words were interrupted by the smash of a glass at his foot. Sophie was now standing - eyes ablaze with a dangerous glint. 

“Take me home, Jim. This conversation is over.”

Even now, as time progressed and old wounds opened, the pair had an unspoken understanding. They both loved to hate, and hated to love one another.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually had a stress-induced argument the other day, and I thought it would be realistic for Sophie and Sherlock to get into a little tiff. I mean, I had my fight because of traffic. I can't imagine how stressed I'd be if a killer ex came back into the picture. But don't worry, the kids will be alright! 
> 
> Also, unsweetened iced green tea and whiskey might sound like an odd pairing, but it's actually really good! My preferred beverage when it's hot out! Only if you're over 21 in the States though ;)


	24. Clarity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sophie and Sherlock come to an understanding.

Sophie quietly let herself into Sherlock’s flat, and slunk her way into his bedroom. Despite their earlier argument, her need for comfort outweighed her anger towards the sleeping man. It was half past two in the morning now, and she knew that he wouldn’t be awake. Yet, she felt an inexplicable need to just see him. To feel his presence wash over her like a blanket of comfort. 

She toed off her sneakers and stripped her leggings away, leaving her in just a white shirt and underwear. Slipping between the comforter and his mattress, she settled in with her chest to his back. Gently nudging his spine with the tip of her nose, she took deep breathes as if she were gulping for air after drowning. 

Despite her attempts at stealth, the man woke with a turn to face the woman. Eyes still closed, he pulled her closer to his chest and rested his mouth against her throat. Still half-asleep, he quietly murmured, “I’m sorry.”

\--

Thank goodness for Watson and his ever understanding and compassionate nature. The next morning, the man did an excellent job of acting as if the previous night’s quarrel never happened. Sophie silently sent the man a million gratitudes in her head knowing that he wouldn’t allow her to relive the embarrassment of fighting with Sherlock in public. 

That only left the uncertainty of how to tell Sherlock of her nightcap with Jim. On a professional level, it might be important to share in regards to their case. Moriarty was clearly still active and keeping a sharp eye on the trio. On a personal level though, how the hell do you tell your boyfriend that you were drinking with an ex well past midnight?

The only thing she was sure of, was that she would tell Sherlock in private. He could relay any information relevant to the case to John later. And if they end up bickering, well at least they could do it without an uncomfortable audience. She nervously fidgeted around the living room, while Sherlock went about playing his violin as if nothing was happening. Finally, John exited the apartment to run some errands and that’s when Sherlock pounced.

Before Sophie could speak up, Sherlock sighed and gestured towards the couch. “There’s no point in keeping secrets from me, Sophie. I can tell there’s something on your mind. Does it have to do with your drinking last night?” 

Her eyes widened in surprise, and then embarrassment. She meekly took a seat, and immediately began to fuss with the bottom of her shirt. When he realized that she wouldn’t speak, Sherlock continued. 

“I know you drank. I could smell the whiskey, even in my state of rest. Now, comparing the number of bars open at the hour you left after our fight, the distance and time required to travel to and from said establishments, and the time you returned to my apartment...I know that you didn’t imbibe anywhere public. Leaving me to assume that you had your beverage somewhere _private_. Now, would you rather be forthcoming and tell me where you were, or would you like me to find out on my own?” 

Sophie felt her shoulders hunch in guilt as if she were a kid caught with her hand in the cookie jar. There was nothing for her to feel _bad_ about, right? It’s not like she had a choice, or even did anything with Jim. Then why did she feel nervous? She sucked in a deep breath, and the words came out of her mouth so quickly it almost sounded like a single word. 

“I was with Jim.” 

Sherlock felt his body involuntarily stiffen at her response. Of course he knew that it could mean a multitude of things. So why was he suddenly so jealous? Sherlock took a moment, and quietly asked, “Did he...did you...do anything...other than...drink?” He barely choked out the word “drink”. Great job, he chastised himself. What a shining example of maturity and eloquence he had suddenly become. 

A million thoughts began to flutter in and out of his head. Did she go to him? Or did he go to her? Were they still in contact somehow and he didn’t know? Why would she meet him so soon after their fight? Was it deliberate?

No, this was ridiculous. He mentally berated himself for being so emotional. So _pedestrian_. Unable to read his stony expression, Sophie timidly placed her hand on Sherlock’s thigh. 

“Nothing sinister happened. He picked me up shortly after I stormed out. I didn’t call him or anything like that. We actually had a fight over drinks. I guess you could call it that...” 

Sherlock felt completely out of his element here. He wasn’t used to considering his words before speaking them. Normally, he’d just begin throwing rapid fire questions while creating deductions from every answer. But now, here with Sophie, he had the added problem of being concerned for her _feelings_ , and a desire to be a good boyfriend. 

While he never understood the fine art better known as _tact_ , he had seen relationship after relationship of John’s blow up. One thing he had gathered was that people generally didn’t like overwhelming significant others who insisted on constantly monitoring their partner’s whereabouts and conversations. 

As if she could sense his internal struggle with sating his curiosity, Sophie decided to spare Sherlock the conflict. Carefully breaching the subject, she relayed, “He wanted to get back together.” Sherlock’s arm flexed in surprise. That was an unexpected development. He quietly stored the information in his head. “And?” He quietly asked. 

Sophie let out a shaky laughed. “Of course I said no. I thought I was abundantly clear how I feel about you.” She closed the distance between the two and left a gentle kiss on his cheek. Her warms lips lingered for a moment against the soft skin of his face as she contemplated whether or not to share the end of their conversation. 

Sensing her hesitation, Sherlock pulled away and placed his palm against her face. His eyes implored what his words couldn’t - he’d rather hear it all. Anything, and everything to do with Sophie was of the upmost importance to him. 

Suddenly bashful, Sophie awkwardly whispered, “He teased me. For not having slept with you.” 

Sherlock felt his shoulders tense as he sat back rigid as a board. Of course he understood anatomy, and the sexual component of relationships. Yes, he did enjoy Sophie’s physical touch, and the emotional intimacy she brought along with it. But since she never brought it up, he had just assumed that it was something she wasn’t interested in. Plus, other concerns have been at the forefront of his mind, so the idea of intercourse had been relegated to the back burner of his internal musings. Had he been misreading everything all along? They did kiss, and whatnot. He wasn’t _that_ dense when it came to interpersonal relationships...was he? 

Completely misunderstanding his sudden change in demeanor, Sophie patted his knee and softly continued, “It’s okay, Sherlock. I can wait until you’re ready. I know that new endeavors can be intimidating...” 

Sherlock felt his cheeks redden at embarrassment and irritation. He stuttered out, “Do you think I’m a _virgin_?” 

“Oh my God. _Oh my God_. I don’t know, I just assumed based on John’s jokes and the fact that you never took anything past first base.”

“You assumed me to be a virgin because of _John’s jokes_?” 

“Well, that and you never, ever, do anything more than just kiss me!” 

“Are you expecting me to explain my need for _consent_?” 

“I mean, you’re my boyfriend! What, did you expect me to just say, ‘Alright, Sherlock. Let’s have intercourse?'” 

“To some extent, yes.” 

Although Sophie could appreciate Sherlock’s thoughtfulness, she internally cringed at all of their missed opportunities. They had spent the entirety of their relationship pawing at each other over their clothing like horny high schoolers, when they could have had more. She covered her face with her palms and wheezed out a giggle. She was definitely, completely, and totally in love with this man. 

Feeling playful, she picked up Sherlock’s hand and placed it flush against her breast. She could see his pupils dilute into a pool of dark chocolate as he felt the soft and supple flesh underneath his fingers. Shakily kneading the tissue beneath his hands, he ventured his hands lower and began to test the waters by her hips. He skimmed along the waistband of her pants before Sophie brushed her nose up his neck and breathed into his ear, “Sherlock, please fuck me.”

In an instant, he had pushed her back and was on top like a man ravaged with hunger. Refusing to wait any longer, Sherlock pushed her bra and shirt up in one fell swoop and smirked as the fabric pooled underneath her chin. Her back stretched and arched underneath him, and he felt his mouth water as he drank in the sight below him. Tightly gripping her hips with one hand, his other snaked behind her head to pull her into a frantic kiss. He tightly wound her hair through his fingers, and shuddered as Sophie let out a raspy moan. The pair continued to grab at each other, completely lost in the frenzy of passion. 

Suddenly Sherlock pulled back and dragged Sophie’s shirt back down. Eyes blown wide from lust and confusion, she sat back on her elbows. 

“Ah, hello. I see you’ve made up.” 

Watson’s shocked voice sent Sophie into a panic of patting down her hair and readjusting her bra. The poor doctor had inadvertently stumbled upon the pair and had been trying to delicately excuse himself. 

In an instant, Sherlock had returned to his frigid persona of master detective. He smoothed his shirt flat, and Sophie sat up amazed at how quickly Sherlock could return to being professional. 

“No matter. Now that you’re here, we can head to the lab together.” 

John and Sophie cast each other an awkward look before John sighed and stepped into the room. Back to business as usual.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I always figured that Sherlock would more of a straightforward kind of guy. Also, sorry for being such a tease.


	25. Poetic License

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock makes a revelation, and Sophie gets upset.

“Sodium Nitrate.”

Sherlock’s gloved hand held out the white substance for Watson and Lestrade to take a look at. It cast a slight shimmer as it caught the harsh florescent lighting of the lab. The two men he was addressing leaned closer to take a look while Sophie sat back texting Anna. She suppressed a giggle as she thought back to the next day after her run in with Jim. 

Of course Sophie had to call Anna to update her on _everything_. In the ever true Anna-ish manner, she screeched, “How _dare_ Jim! If I ever see him, I swear he’ll get an earful from me. I’d _kill_ him if it wasn’t illegal! I don’t give a fuck that he’s some crime lord! He can’t just go stomping around _demanding_ that you date him again. I swear to...” 

Sophie was lucky. She was lucky to have a best friend who would always defend her. She was also lucky to have a boyfriend who, despite his nature and inclination towards stoicism, made efforts to soften his hardened shell just for her...

“Notice that I’m wearing gloves, because if you touch it with your bare hands it can cause burns and stains.” 

...sometimes. Sherlock subtly threw his voice towards Sophie, and she rolled her eyes. She tutted to herself, jokingly thinking that Sherlock was also lucky to have such a patient woman in his life. Unaware of the silent conversation between Sherlock and Sophie, Lestrade went ahead and asked what the significance of the powder was. 

John responded, “I don’t know what it has to do with Moriarty, but I know that it’s been used for medicinal purposes in the past. But that was ages and ages ago. Maybe it’s another message?”

“ _Good job, John_. But no. It’s not a hidden message. It’s a clue...” Sherlock’s voice stopped as he caught Sophie’s warning look. She’d taken to giving him small disapproving looks when he used his “arrogant voice”, as she put it. Although, Greg would argue that Sherlock’s voice just sounded like that all the time. 

Sherlock sighed and evened out his tone, “It’s used during the process of currency plate-making. It’s dated, but that means it’s harder to trace inaccuracies between bills. It’s also a process used in _American_ currency production.”

“How would that tie into Moriarty or the murdered janitor at the Treasury if this is the work of an American?” Greg ventured to asked. He’d noticed that Sherlock was noticeably less _Sherlock-y_ around Sophie, and had taken to asking more questions when she was present. 

The detective was about to sigh again when he caught the corner of Sophie’s eye. Willing more patience from a well that did not exist, he replied, “You’ll find that our murdered janitor was working under a British alias. He’s actually a native Texan. His real name is Christopher Sanders.”

“So...calling him James Moriarty?” 

“Poetic license? Maybe the real Moriarty was trying to be funny? It could be a number of reasons.” 

“He’s just being a drama queen,” Sophie piped up. Still looking down at her phone, she didn’t notice that all three men had turned to look at her. Suddenly aware of the hush that had fallen over the room, she put her phone down. 

“I’m just saying,” Sophie started. “He’s not really one to talk about his emotions, right? Whatever emotion he felt - warmth, anger, frustration, sorrow...I’d only ever really figure it out based on how he acted out. So maybe he’s just acting out. Some secondary school angsty way of sending a message.” 

Sherlock dropped the powder in his hand back onto a dish and quickly threw his gloves into a nearby bin. The air in the room suddenly became thick with tension as everyone picked up on Sherlock’s sudden irritation. He snatched his scarf from a nearby stool and uttered a hasty goodbye before flying out of the room. 

Sophie quickly stood to follow, concern darting across her face. She called out after the man, “Sherlock! Did I say something wrong?” She moved towards the exit when John placed a gentle hand on her stomach. 

“Let him go. Something important is on his mind. I’ve only seen him like this a few times, and it ended up being critical. Give him some time, he’ll come around.”

Sophie stopped and gave a dejected nod. Greg gave her a soft pat on the shoulder, and offered to grab her a cup of tea from the cafeteria. 

\--

Sherlock didn’t return that night. The next night Watson silently shook his head when she knocked on his door to check in. The night after that, Sophie was once again disappointed. As the next day passed, John had taken to texting Sophie updates so she wouldn’t have the letdown of an empty apartment.

Seven long and unbearable days had passed when Sophie was startled by a succession of rapid-fire knocks at her front door. Bleary eyed, she peeked at the alarm clock on her nightstand that flashed a single five followed by a two and an eight. She flipped onto her back and stared at the ceiling. Nothing good could come from opening your front door at five in the morning, right? 

The knocks wouldn’t cease though, and knowing that Anna could sleep through an earthquake, Sophie got up. She nudged the chain lock over and pulled their front door open by an inch. 

“Sherlock?” 

Sophie wasn’t sure which emotion to deal with first. Anger? Relief? Joy? She settled for _tired_ , as she let the man in. It was too early, and she had gone through too much, to deal with him at this moment. Closing the door behind her, she decided to ignore him as she went back to bed. 

If he could up and disappear for almost a week, then he could deal with the silent treatment for a few minutes. Immature? Yes. But very, very, satisfying. The pair made their way to Sophie’s bedroom, and Sherlock closed her door before beginning. 

“I’m sorry.” 

Sophie gave him the most uninterested expression. Sherlock would have been impressed if the look wasn’t directed at him right now. She didn’t bother getting under the covers, and just simply crossed her legs on top of her bed. Realizing that Sophie was still icing him out, he continued, “I had...to go... somewhere. It was time sensitive. I...please, let me explain over dinner?”

Sherlock was leaning against the door looking more like a shy teenager asking his crush out on a first date as opposed to the confident man he usually was. Sophie frowned. Damnit. There was her soft spot for the moody detective. She huffed and crawled under the covers while patting her side for the detective to join her. 

“Fine. Dinner it is. But until then, I’m still ignoring you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've written out the next few chapters, and I think we might be coming to a close soon. 
> 
> There's been a lot going on in my life, and it's going to be reflected in a mess of angst and drama coming up for Sherlock and Sophie. :(


	26. Crescendo To Nothing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock surprises Sophie, and leaves her flustered.

This was definitely a step up from chips at the local snack shop. The restaurant was airy, with open ceilings held up by wooden beams. Limited seating mixed with casual decor made the perfect balance between upscale and warm. Sophie felt guilty, but part of her instinctively hoped that this wasn’t another dine and dash for their case. 

Sherlock also seemed more nervous and unsure than usual. Although he was dressed in his usual suit jacket and button up ensemble, Sophie noticed that this time it was buttoned all the way to the neck, and he was even sporting a smart tie. 

“Is that a tie clip?” Sophie teased as she reached over the adjust her boyfriend’s lapel. She laughed at his groan and slipped her arm around his as the hostess lead them to their seats. She took in the twinkling lights hanging from overhead as they were lead to a secluded area in the back of the restaurant. 

“Sherlock, this is lovely!” Sophie exclaimed as she took her seat. Sherlock doted on her in his own way, but never like this. He watched her eyes widen in excitement as she took in the environment. “Oh, there’s a live guitarist!” She continued to gush. Sherlock couldn’t hide his amusement, and let a rare earnest grin split across his face. He pointed at the menu left ignored in front of her and winked, “We can dance later. First, we eat.” 

He didn’t think that her eyes could get any wider. Her mouth fell open as she asked, “You can dance?” He scoffed in mock offense. Drumming his fingers on the tabletop, he grinned, “I’m a master violinist. You could at least assume that I can keep time!” A melodic laugh spilled from Sophie as she gave the back of his palm a quick kiss. It seemed like whatever was making him nervous earlier was finally dissipating and he had returned to his normal, Sherlock, self. 

Dinner progressed with lighthearted teasing, compelling conversation, and gentle stolen touches here and there. As dessert came and went, Sophie gave Sherlock a sly smile. She had not forgotten about his earlier claim to dance fame. Her heart thrummed in anticipation as she watched Sherlock roll up his sleeves in pretend seriousness. 

Music suddenly swelled as he lifted her hand up to guide Sophie to a small open outdoor patio that doubled as a dance floor. Wood underneath their feet creaked as a lone guitarist crooned towards the couple. Sherlock swung the woman out before twirling her right back into his arms. Swaying side to side in step, a sudden realization hit Sophie. 

“Isn’t this the same tune as that song you’ve been working on for the past couple of weeks?” 

He nodded in affirmation, and slipped his hand around her waist. Laying his cheek softly against her own, he peppered gentle kisses along her temple. 

“Our song. Every note, every pause of silence, and every chord - written for you. Only you.” 

Sophie felt herself melting in Sherlock arms. She never thought of herself as the type to cry from being touched, but here she was. Cradled in the detective’s arms as he whispered sweet words of adoration in her ears. Feeling moisture wet his shoulder, Sherlock pulled back in concern.

“You’re crying. What’s wrong?” 

Grinning from ear to ear, Sophie hiccuped and playfully swiped at his chest. “I’m not crying from sadness, silly. I’m crying from happiness.” He gingerly brought his hands up to palm her face, and wiped underneath her eyes with his thumbs. Sniffling, Sophie broke up in a sheepish grin as she reached up to plant a kiss on Sherlock’s lips. He pulled away and gave her a deep look. 

“I love you.” 

Sophie stared up at the man in silence and shock. She wasn’t sure when _“I care for you”_ turned into love. Gripping her hands tightly, he stepped back and continued, “All of you. I love your empathy, and will always find beauty in your humanity. I love the way you’ve filled out my life, leaving lingering traces of affection in spaces never touched before. I love your stubborn attitude, and how you will argue with me till you’re blue in the face. To love you, is to finally live.” 

Heart racing, Sophie felt as Sherlock slowly removed his hands from her own. She intuitively brought a hand up to her mouth as she watched her boyfriend slowly sink to one knee before her. It was as if the entire room stilled, and time stopped pressing forward. Reaching into his pocket, Sherlock Holmes calmly removed a square velvet box. Flipping the lid open, a single ring sat amongst the plush interior. 

A single solitaire cut diamond sat atop a silver band dotted with pavé set stones. 

“Sophie Carter, will you marry me?”

Shock radiated into the depths of Sophie’s body as her mind froze and body seized. This was completely unexpected, and Sophie couldn’t process everything that was happening at the moment. As if suddenly set on auto-pilot, everything became a blur to her. She felt herself going through the motions of nodding, and she was sure that Sherlock was taking her unease for astonishment. 

He quickly slipped the ring on her finger and swept her up in a hug. The room exploded into cheers as he swung his now fiancée around in a circle. Setting Sophie down, he gave her one last passionate kiss before leading returning to their table. Her palms felt clammy as she nervously returned a shy smile. Settling back at their seats, the hostess gushed congratulations as she brought out champagne and a promise to return with a special cake. 

Completely unaware, he began to animatedly prattle on about how at the lab he realized he couldn’t lose Sophie. He went on about how he hopped on the first train to see his parents - to tell them their son was going to propose to his girlfriend. Once his parents got over the initial shock of finding out that their son was even dating someone to begin with, they quickly warmed up to the idea (especially since, according to his mum, _hell would probably freeze over before Mycroft brought anyone home_ ). His mother had even given him an antique family ring she had been saving, and insisted that Sherlock take the stone from the top. 

Sophie aimlessly thumbed at the ring that suddenly felt heavy on her hand and looked up at Sherlock. His eyes beamed with happiness and pride while she swallowed a lump in her throat. 

“Sherlock, I’m going to go outside to call my parents to tell them the good news. I’ll be right back!” 

She forced herself to relax her shoulders before grabbing her bag to walk outside. As soon as she was out of his eyesight, she quickly rummaged around the bottom for a stray cigarette she knew was left behind for moments like this. She wasn’t a smoker, and knowing how Sherlock had a hard time breaking his habit, she hadn’t touched one since they started dating. But prior to knowing him, she’d steal one or two during moments of stress and a few stray cigarettes still lay scatted in here and there. 

Sophie Carter loved Sherlock Holmes. That wasn’t the issue. But she felt unsettled knowing that the proposal came at the heels of her fight with Moriarty. She was scared, that much was true. Scared that Sherlock was misguided in his feelings. Scared that her love would always be one sided. Scared that Jim would harm herself or the man she loved. Scared that none of this was real. 

Spilling out onto the cold street, she ripped the filter off the end of her cigarette and ran right into Jim Moriarty. 

“Those will kill you, you know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we finally come full circle to the prologue! I'm _so_ sorry that this took forever to upload, but I'm finally back. Hopefully I'll be able to upload the rest of the chapters in a timely manner. Thanks for sticking around!


	27. Tinderbox

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sophie finally hits her breaking point.

Sophie Holmes. 

Mrs. Sophie Holmes.

_Mrs. Sophie Carter-Holmes._

Mindlessly sliding the engagement ring up and down her finger, Sophie contemplated the state of her life. Seven days had passed since her engagement, and she still hadn’t made the information public. Returning to restaurant, Sophie guiltily lied, telling Sherlock that her call went unanswered. 

She pulled the ring off her finger and held it up to the light. Sherlock definitely had good taste. Sighing, she replaced the gem on her left hand. She knew that she was being unreasonable, but she couldn’t help but be _embarrassed_. It was completely unfair to Sherlock, seeing that he had nothing to do with her uncertainties. But Sophie couldn’t help but cringe when she thought about how just three years prior, she was engaged to another man. 

It wasn’t as if she could just go around telling her family that her boyfriend turned out to be a very, very, evil man. Thank goodness nobody recognized Richard Brook as Jim Moriarty. She ended up coming up with a lame story about how Richard got cold feet, and things just didn’t work out. What made the actual breakup worse was everybody’s _pity_. 

What was she supposed to say now? “Hey mum and pop, your only little girl is now engaged to man she’s been only dating for a few months. No, you’ve never met him, but I’m sure you’ve heard of him! Oh, and remember the man she was previously engaged to? He’s back in the picture too!” 

She grunted and shoved her face into her palms. When did things become so complicated? The only people who knew about the engagement were John and Anna. John was completely thrilled for his friend, albeit somewhat incredulous. Anna, on the other hand, completely understood Sophie’s feelings and promised not to share the good news until she was ready. 

It seemed like the only person in London who wasn’t taken aback by the news was Sherlock. For a man who was so keen, he seemed completely oblivious to what was happening right in front of him until a particular bout of terrible timing left a smudge on their relationship. 

“Sophie, I hate to be forward, but as Sherlock’s best friend it’s somewhat necessary.”

Sophie looked up from her book and met John’s eyes. They were both silently reading - John flipping through the newspaper, and Sophie thumbing through a new mystery novel. The pair were facing each other in the living room of 221B waiting for Sherlock to return for dinner. 

Sensing that the conversation was about to get serious, Sophie dogeared her page and set it down. John swallowed once and cautiously continued, “I’m not an expert on engagements, but I assumed that you would be more excited about yours.” 

Her skin prickled in shame and awkwardness. For every bit Sherlock lacked in social awareness, John certainly made up for it. Sophie tugged at her sleeve and quietly replied, “It’s not that I’m not happy. I mean it when I say that I love Sherlock. Everything is just happening so _fast_ , and everything is so _messy_ with Jim in the picture. And, was it just me, or was the whole lab thing, plus his disappearance, totally _weird_?” 

John folded his paper in half and debated whether or not to share some information with Sophie. He wasn’t a gossip, that’s for sure. But this bit of knowledge pertained to the woman across from him. Clearing his throat he replied, “Yes, well. About that. Apparently, when you were sharing your musings about Moriarty’s...ah...special way of communicating, Sherlock made a realization.” 

Completely intrigued, Sophie felt herself automatically leaning forward. Watson rubbed his palms flat against his thighs. He had already started, so he might as well finish.

“Sherlock realized that Moriarty still loves you. As in, he truly, absolutely, inarguably still loves you. Every message and every clue was in a way, Moriarty _showing_ you his frustration and his pain.” 

Sophie frowned. She had always assumed that Moriarty could never be capable of a full range of human emotion. More or less similar to Sherlock, but at least the detective wasn’t violent...per se. 

“Whatever happened between myself and Jim is over. I made that much clear already. I don’t understand what that has to do with Sherlock’s...episode?”

“He’s afraid of losing you. When he was in the lab, it became clear that Moriarty was hellbent on bringing you back to his side. Sherlock is afraid that he’s planning something bigger, something where you’ll never be able to leave his side again.” 

“So...Sherlock is going to _marry me_ for what then? I don’t think a marriage certificate is going to stop Moriarty from, what? Kidnapping me?”

“It’s not just that. Sherlock wants to send him a message. To let Moriarty know that Sherlock has staked his claim.” 

Sophie groaned and stood from her seat. Pacing back and forth between the window and her chair she felt more and more enraged. Although she knew it wasn’t the poor doctor’s fault, she still felt herself directing rage towards the innocent man. To hell with the messenger and not shooting him.

“You know what? I’m done. I’m sick and tired of this _fucking game_. I’m just a pawn to these psychopathic men! A _toy_ they use to assert dominance over each other with. I’m a _person_ , Watson! Not some shiny new thing to be used in a _pissing match_.” 

The doctor quickly stood and crossed over to the woman. Unsure of whether rubbing her shoulder would soothe or further irritate her, he awkwardly shifted back and forth. He quietly pleaded, “Sophie, it’s not like that. Sherlock... he’s doing the best he can. He cares for you, he really does. He just doesn’t know how to communicate those feelings!” Ignoring the man in front of her, Sophie continued to raise her voice. 

“Ha! And to think that I actually _love_ Sherlock. I knew it! This proposal was a total fucking _sham_. He says he loves me, but his motives are still selfish. He’ll always be selfish, it’s just who he is!” 

A creak sounded from the edge of the room, and the pair looked up to see a shocked and visibly upset Sherlock standing by the door. Unable to face the man, Sophie stormed towards the man. Still sobbing, she tore her engagement ring from her finger and angrily shoved it into his palm. Rubbing her eyes with the back of her wrist, she elbowed the man out of her way before fleeing down the stairs. The echo of her last words reverberated throughout the hushed room.

“I hate you, Sherlock Holmes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry guys. It'll get worse before it gets better :(


	28. The Messenger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A letter sends everyone into frenzy and fear.

It was now October. A month had passed since Sophie had left Sherlock’s apartment in tears, and Anna hated that she had been right. There were no longer any pieces of Sophie Carter left to pick up. 

Sophie had quietly secluded herself in her room, hardly venturing outside due to fear and sadness. Her canvases now lay neglected and her once vibrant paints were hardened from lack of use and slowly discoloring. She stopped taking phone calls from friends and family, and slowly wasted away both emotionally and physically. She was a shell of a woman she once was. The only consistent thing in her life were the tears that came at night.

Sherlock had attempted to reach out, but he floundered and was left grasping at straws. He had never experienced something like this in his life before, and the more she withdrew, the more confused and hurt he became. Soon, he also gave up and pushed himself into the depths of solitude. Watson was worried for his friend as well, seeing that Sherlock no longer took cases and would spend his days idly sitting in his chair gripping onto his violin. He wouldn’t even play. He would just sit in silence while mindlessly brushing the length of its strings.

As luck would have it, the one day Anna actually left Sophie’s side to run a quick errand was the day their doorbell chimed. Flopping onto her back, Sophie stared at her ceiling in silence. The bell rang a second, and then a third time. Finally accepting that whoever was on the other side wasn’t going to go away, she rolled off her bed and shuffled to the front. 

“Hello...miss...” 

The poor delivery boy did his best to not look completely concerned at Sophie’s appearance. She signed and yanked the package from his hands. Quickly returning whatever paper he had put in front of her, she barely uttered a quick “thanks” before slamming the door. 

Laying the box on her counter, she noticed that the sizable package had no return label on it. Picking it up carefully, Sophie turned it side to side and frowned. She delicately set it back down, and slowly slit the top to reveal several contents wrapped in black tissue paper. 

“What on earth...” Sophie mumbled to herself. Making her way through the individually wrapped products, she first set down a pair of expensive looking shampoo and conditioner bottles. Next, came a full set of makeup and skincare. Somehow the sender knew her exact routine, but opted for the more lavish versions of her everyday products. A set of functional, but still opulent, undergarments lay next to her items. She pulled out a fluffy black cashmere sweater and dark washed jeans before the entire ensemble was completed with a pair of brand new black flats. Functional, but extravagant, Sophie noted the trademark red on the bottom of the shoes. 

Completely confused, she stuck a hand to the bottom of the box and dug around before pulling out a card. Scrawled in elegant cursive, it read: 

_Darling,_

_I wasn’t lying when I said I wanted to start fresh. Tonight we’ll write a new chapter in our lives, but until then, enjoy a taste of what’s waiting for you on the other side._

_Won’t you allow me the privilege of caring for you?_

_A car will pick you up at eight. It would be in your best interest to come._

_With Love,_  
_Jim_

Maybe if Sophie had lived another life, she could have been happy. If things had been different, she wouldn’t know what fear was. People often mistake nervousness for fear. No, what she was feeling wasn’t uncertainty. It was unbridled, unrelenting, heart-wrenching fear. Fear that struck deep into her bones and plagued her to her very core. Fear for her life. Fear for the lives of her loved ones. Fear for her dreams, and the opportunity to have the joy of living life as an anonymous and ordinary woman. Instead, she was caught between two dangerous men with their own agendas. 

How could she even love under these circumstances? Having a man force your hand as he backed you up against a wall wasn’t exactly romance. It was just like Moriarty to follow a threat with words of endearment.

Feeling completely defeated, she gave her counter one final look of disdain and helplessness before swiping the various bottles into her arm. Judging by the look the delivery boy gave her, she’d need to start as soon as possible if she wanted to look somewhat presentable to be seen in public. 

\--

John and Sherlock sat up in alarm, as frenzied pounding sounded at their door. The two were sitting in their living room when they were interrupted by a flurry of screams and bangs. Watson quickly ran across the room and threw the door open. Anna spilled into the room completely hysterical. She was sobbing so hard that words completely failed the woman. 

Sherlock stood in concern when Anna uttered the only word she could - Sophie. She thrust a card into Sherlock’s hand and begged, “Help her.” He quickly scanned over Moriarty’s writing before shoving the offending piece of paper into John’s fingers. Sherlock practically flew across the room, leaving John to scramble over a fallen chair in an attempt to keep up. Turning over his shoulder, he assured Anna that they would find Sophie, and disappeared into the night.

The men tumbled into a cab, and John balked as Sherlock practically screamed, “Naughty Nancy” at the driver. Although the destination was peculiar, John had enough experience solving crimes by the detective’s side to know better than to ask questions. They zoomed through the dark streets of London, and soon exited in front of a familiar alley. 

If Sherlock thought the small boutique looked dingy before, tonight’s view was giving that perception a run for its money. He cautiously surveyed the building and furrowed his brow in concern. Dropping his baritone lower, he motioned towards the second story and whispered, “Nancy is always home at this time to catch whichever mindless program she’s following on telly. But her light is off.”

Watson looked between the dark window and Sherlock in confusion. Who was Nancy? 

“Oh my God. Did you bring your gun?” Sherlock fumed. 

Gun. _That_ , Watson understood. Pulling the revolver from behind, he held it pointed downwards in both hands. Sherlock gave his partner a curt nod, and silently gestured for them to go around the back. The air was still and quiet, and perhaps that was what unsettled Sherlock the most. There wasn’t a hint of activity in the form of sight, sound, or smell. 

While Sherlock and Watson were hesitant and fearful, Sophie was the complete opposite. In fact, she had never been more sure in her life . If there was any certainty to be had in her life, it would be that she was absolutely livid. “Jim or Richard? Lover or killer?” Sophie’s eyes lit with a wild fire as she swung to push Jim away from her. Fingers outstretched ahead of her, she threw her weight into her arms to create more distance from the shadowy man. Fighting every urge inside to howl in bitterness she continued, “I don’t know who you are. I’m not even sure I know who I am. Every moment we’ve shared is tainted in deceit.”

Moriarty gently reached up to catch her flailing arms. Cautiously holding her fragile wrists in his hands, he replied, “There was always a purpose to my secrecy, Sophie. It was for your own good.” 

If what she felt previously was a fire, the pressure inside of Sophie’s chest now built up into an explosion. Struggling against his hold, Sophie began to scream. Pulling herself up to his face, she screeched, “Don’t you _dare_ tell me did this for my own good. You are a selfish, conniving, _evil_ man.” Every feeling of betrayal she had pushed down and hidden away for the past three years finally came bubbling up to the surface. 

“There, there. Don’t cry, love. I promise things will be better. In fact, they’ll be perfect,” Jim cooed at the sobbing woman. Pulling her into his chest, he gingerly ran his hand from the top of her hair down to the bottom of her neck. Feeling completely spent and exhausted, Sophie cried into his chest as he held her. Arm still around the narrow of her waist, Jim leaned back and continued, “You’ll love our new place. I’ve even set up a studio for you. I made sure to find a place with gorgeous natural lighting. I know how much it affects your work.” 

Sophie stiffened at his words. Extracting as much of her body from his hold as possible, she carefully ventured, “ _Our_ place?”

Moriarty’s eyes suddenly darkened as they took on a crazed glint. Enthusiastically nodding, he chirped, “A new start. I just _know_ you’ll fight it at first, but trust me. You’ll come around. You’ll love it!” It had finally happened. If Sophie thought Jim had lost it before, this was a different level. She wrung her hands together and asked, “And _where_ is our new start?”

“ _America._ ”

Sherlock’s deep voice rang through the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jim is about to lose it. Like, _really_ lose it.


	29. Chapter 29

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Questions finally find answers.

“Excellent! I was just thinking that it would be so _annoying_ to murder Sherlock from America. I do like a bit of convenience. Moving is _such_ a drag after all.” Jim’s eyes lit up as he surveyed the individuals in front of him. Sophie was sure that the man would have started clapping if his hand wasn’t tightly gripping the fabric of her sweater. 

John’s arms were steadily raised towards Moriarty. Pistol pointing forward, he levelly stated, “Let her go.”

Tugging the brunette closer to his side, Jim let out a cackle of laughter. Planting a wet kiss on the side of her face, Jim sneered, “Let her go? _Let her go?_ Not while we still have unfinished business!” Sophie visibly shrank behind Jim as her heart began to race in fear. She had seen Jim lose his temper once or twice, and that she could deal with. _Crazy_ , though? This was something she had never personally seen before. 

“Jim... _Jim_. You’re hurting me,” Sophie quietly pleaded. Somehow in the midst of his dialogue with John, his nails had dug so hard into Sophie’s flesh that small divots of blood began to pool and seep through her top. Looking down in surprise, he quickly released the woman. Rubbing his hands together, he quickly apologized, “Oops! I’ll make it up to you, I promise!”

Sherlock’s face twisted in discomfort as he observed Sophie attempting to silently keep it together. He was familiar with almost every aspect of this woman, and now he was regrettably exposed to a new expression he wished to never see again - horror. Looking towards Moriarty with disgust, he spat, “You’ll never take her with you.” 

“Oh, but I will! We just need to pick up one last thing, and we’ll be on our way!” Jim cheered in glee. Stepping aside, he bent to observe the floorboards below. Running a hand along the rough surface, his finger caught on a small crack. Tugging on the wood, it suddenly creaked and groaned as a trap door was revealed. Steps lead down into darkness, and Sophie gasped, “What’s going on?”

Sherlock observed in silence, unsure of whether to feel pleased or concerned that his suspicions were correct. He calmly stated, “Christopher Sanders, our deceased janitor once lived here. He smuggled American currency plates into the country, but was incarcerated for an unrelated crime before he was able to sell them. While he served his time, this property was seized, and Naughty Nancy opened shop completely unaware that stolen plates were housed in a hidden basement right beneath her feet.”

Turning to face Moriarty, he continued, “You were ready to disappear to America and start a new business venture beginning with the plates. Of course you had to tie up loose ends, so why not murder the American while sending a message.”

Jim began to clap. “What a good detective you are!” Jim mocked. Circling the trap door, he continued to applaud as he taunted, “And now our good detective and his pet must die.” 

Watson’s steely gaze remained fixed as he leveled his gun towards Moriarty. Jim tutted and wagged a single finger towards the doctor. With a flick of his wrist and a snap, a single red dot suddenly appeared over Sophie’s chest. Noticing the mark, a slow whimper escaped her lungs as tears threatened to spill over her cheeks. Sighing, Moriarty shook his head and calmly stated, “I would prefer if my girlfriend didn’t become collateral damage, and I’m sure that the good doctor and detective would appreciate keeping our friend alive. So, how about you let us leave and Sophie doesn’t get hurt.” 

Sophie quietly sobbed, “Jim, _please_.”

He started to pace back and force, agitation clearly painted across his pale features. Gripping his hair with one hand, he wildly gestured with the other. Stopping just in front of the woman, he screamed into her face, “It didn’t have to _be like this_. If you had just come _nicely_! If you hadn’t been so _difficult_.” Gripping her chin tightly with one hand, his fingers were tense as he squeezed.

“ _MORIARTY!_ ” Sherlock bellowed, absolutely horrified at the bruises that threatened to bloom where her face met pressure. The manic man suddenly flinched, as if he wasn’t aware that there were people in the room with him. In that split moment, Sophie took a chance and pushed the man away. 

As if timed slowed for him, Sherlock cried out into the night as he threw himself in front of the woman. Two gunshots echoed. Three bodies thudded against the floor. Sophie tossed herself to the ground as she cradled Sherlock’s body against her own. Wetness pooled between her fingers as blood mixed with tears. Sophie was so lost in shock and grief, that she didn’t even register someone prying her body from that of Sherlock’s. She continued to sob as the room burst into chaos.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, we're _so close_ to the end now! I'm still figuring out if I should just end this or write an epilogue. It's been such a long and fun journey writing and sharing my first ever fanfic! I'm honestly to touched by everyone who read along with me.  <3


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